


Mode de la Reine

by QuercusMarginalis



Category: El Goonish Shive
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-02
Updated: 2020-06-02
Packaged: 2021-03-03 06:20:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 53,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24500089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuercusMarginalis/pseuds/QuercusMarginalis
Summary: Post-graduation summer excursion into fashion lands in all the feels and a quantity of smut.
Relationships: Ashley/Ellen Dunkel, Ashley/Elliot Dunkel, Ellen Dunkel/Nanase Kitsune, Nanase Kitsune/Elliot Dunkel
Comments: 11
Kudos: 18





	1. Borrowing

**Author's Note:**

> You could think of it as Helena and Demetrius the French immortals seeing more things than they wanted to see.
> 
> You could also think of it as the griffins being right.

## Early June

“Can I borrow Elliot?” Nanase looks straight at Ashley to ask.

“ _Borrow_ Elliot?” Ashley isn’t sure she heard correctly.

Nanase takes another deep breath and sits up straighter. You can see a little narrow line of couch between Nanase and Ellen afterwards. “There’s a lingerie shop that only does fitted. I want to get a surprise for Ellen, only my mother insists I don’t go alone and the store won’t measure you if you’re there alone, so I can’t transform to do it.”

“Plus telling Tedd why you want the transform would be awkward,” Ellen says in her best helpful tones.

Nanase nods with feeling.

Ashley’s face goes through a variety of smiles; comprehension, an initial image, and then a thought followed by another thought. The last thought makes Ashley blush, enough she turns around on Elliot’s lap to put her nose into Elliot’s chest.

“You want me to transform into exactly-Ellen and go get fitted for lingerie?” Elliot thinks this could be reasonable.

“And then not tell me _anything_ ,” Ellen says.

“How far is it?”

“Eight hours?” Nanase isn’t doubtful enough to move her arm from around Ellen to make a proper two-handed “about” motion.

“It’s Mode de la Reine, isn’t it?” Ashley’s blush is down to half-strength. She’s got the side of her face against Elliot’s chest.

“Za?” Elliot’s looking down at Ashley.

“People fly in to get measured,” Ashley says. “It’s invitation only.”

“We did an investigation for an existing customer,” Ellen says. “We got an invitation.” A possessive wiggle happens, Ellen pulling Nanase firmly against herself. “One, which means one individual can get clothes. I want to undress Nanase. Nanase wants to dress me up. Nanase really wants it to be a surprise. So…”

The look Ellen uses on Nanase is much closer to incitement than invitation.

There’s a general attempt to say “Pause for smooching!”, an innovation from the graduation party last week at Tedd’s. Elliot gets to the “f” in “for” before Ashley’s kissing him. Ellen and Nanase each get halfway through “Pause”; there’s no loss of lip contact as Nanase turns to face into the couch, floats and twists to come to rest on her knees, leaning far enough sideways that she ought to need her left arm to hold herself up.

After everyone comes up for air, Ashley drapes herself across both easy chair arms and Elliot, legs stretching out at chair arm level until Elliot puts his left arm out under Ashley’s knees and folds Ashley’s legs in on top of her. Ashley produces a contented wiggle, a constructive wiggle to let her left arm slide in behind Elliot, and no obvious intention to stop looking at Ellen and Nanase.

Nanase pauses, right hand under her rumpled T-shirt, and raises an eyebrow.

“I like boobs,” Ashley says. “That was a lot of squish.”

Nanase grins, takes her T-shirt off, shakes the rumple out of it, and puts it back on. Ashley produces a faint _woo_ of appreciation.

“You broke up with Elliot because he was a he,” Ashley says, much more to the ceiling than Nanase. “If Ellen hadn’t happened, and Elliot had ended up transforming anyway, you might not have broken up.”

“I want a full-time woman,” Nanase says. “Male Elliot’s aesthetic, Female Elliot’s kinda hot.”

“Better be,” Ellen says, smirking.

“You still want Elliot to imitate whatever bedroom form Ellen uses and go get fitted for lingerie in a place where they don’t print a catalog and make you sign a `no social media’ agreement and have a reputation” and Ashley runs out of breath.

“Bedroom form?” Nanase tries to sound confused.

“The form you don’t want to buy regular clothes for,” Ashley says. “Or go out in public. But Ellen wants you to see.”

“She’s smart,” Ellen says, apparently directly to Elliot.

“At the party, you flirted hard with Diane,” Ashley says, more to Nanase than the ceiling. “When Lucy got worried, you started flirting with Lucy.”

“You offered to oil-wrestle Lucy.” Ellen’s grinning into Nanase’s neck.

“You offered to sell tickets,” Nanase says back to Ellen, in what was meant to be a repressive tone of voice.

“What’s this place’s reputation for?” Elliot’s trying for serious.

“Expense,” Ashley says. “High quality. Unconventional design.”

“Mode de le Reine hasn’t got a website,” Nanase says. “There’s an academic essay online about the difference between clothes that package you and clothes that make you look desirable that one of their seamstresses wrote.”

“Measured nude,” Ashley says.

“Not even a tiny thong?” Elliot’s looking at Ashley.

“Not by reputation.” Ashley’s head turns to look over at the couch.

“It’s an overnight trip,” Ellen says. “Drive up, stay, get fitted the next day, drive back. Elliot won’t be able to drive.”

Ashley makes an inquisitive noise.

“My driver’s license says I’m a he,” Elliot says. “For an exact copy I have to transform with Ellen right there and stay transformed the whole time.”

Ashley says “Oh” and blushes. Elliot lifts Ashley up enough to kiss her forehead, then sets her back down gently.

“It won’t work if you try to explain Elliot,” Ashley says, mostly to Nanase. “My-girlfriend’s-idential-twin-sister isn’t going to volunteer to get measured for sexy lingerie. So you’d be doing something naked and romantic and letting everyone assume you’re a couple,” Ashley says. Ashley doesn’t sound accusing.

“I really want to surprise Ellen.” Nanase has neither arm free, and makes a looping motion with one foot. “This summer might be it. Magical college doesn’t sound like we get much free time.”

“Anything Tedd’s dad is vague about,” Ellen says, and Elliot, Ellen, and Nanase nod.

There’s a pause. Ashley doesn’t know Edward Verres well enough to know that lack of exposition isn’t a good sign.

“Can I borrow Ellen?” Ashley looks over at Nanase and wiggles a little deeper into Elliot’s embrace.

“For?” Nanase doesn’t understand.

“Boundary-setting. What you’re comfortable happening between Ellen and I ought to be the most you’re comfortable doing with Elliot.”

“I’ve already proposed naked shopping.” Nanase sounds a little wry.

“Is this like the Grace Rule?” Ellen’s voice has gone speculative.

“Grace rule?” Elliot hasn’t heard of the Grace Rule.

“If Grace offers to kiss you, kiss Grace back,” Elle and Nanase say in chorus. “Then check that Tedd’s OK with it. Then tell each other about it.”

“We have a Tedd rule,” Ashley says.

Elliot blushes. Ellen smirks.

“I still think that’s unnecessary,” Elliot says.

Ashley’s arm behind Elliot moves, sliding out and up to put a hand on Elliot’s shoulder. “When Tedd kisses you, you do not break Tedd’s heart. You kiss Tedd back.” Ashley’s voice is firm and serious. “I would much rather schedule around when you fuck Tedd than deal with you after the guilt hit.”

Elliot nods, curls Ashley up into a firm hug, and Elliot sets her back down again. “You’re wonderful.”

“This is so nice,” Ashley says to no one in particular, in a quiet observational voice.

Nanase says “Nice?”

“I’m a lot less anxious when I’m squished,” Ashley says. “Elliot’s a really firm squisher.”

Ellen snerks quietly; Nanase mimes biting Ellen’s ear.

“You think you should have an Ellen rule, and I get the same rule about Elliot?” Nanase tries to sound like this is an unlikely possibility.

“I could worry about your genre knowledge,” Ashley says.

“Genre?” Nanase doesn’t know how to take this.

“What kind of story it is,” Ashley says. “How do you feel about me asking to borrow Ellen?”

“Conflicted,” Nanase says.

“Nanase.” Ellen’s voice is gentle, and Ellen’s arms curl around Nanase in an an effort to make Nanase notice she’s being held. “You follow a lot of social rules you don’t believe in. I’m not worried about your ability to follow rules.”

Nanase’s eyes close. “I’m competitive. I like being hot. I know I’m hot.”

Ashley and Ellen make similar wordless noises of encouragement.

“I have the best girlfriend,” Nanase says. “Who is a magically created sex toy and likes herself and is wonderful and I shouldn’t be greedy and I still want to,” and Nanase stops.

“I wouldn’t want to hurt Grace. Grace isn’t getting everything she needs, I wish I knew if Tedd has noticed, I don’t mean Grace, Grace would be fun. The Grace rule is about not hurting Grace.” Nanase says this all in one rush.

“OK,” Ashley says.

“I don’t want to be indiscriminate,” Nanase says, eyes still closed. “There are women who aren’t Ellen I want to make helplessly incoherent. I want to make them babble, I want to make them come until they pass out, I want them to come back and ask me to do it again.”

Elliot’s eyebrows are way up.

“Sorry, information,” Ashley says. “Sex toy?”

“I’m what happens when you female-variant-five Elliot with the transformation gun and it’s permanent,” Ellen says. “What I don’t usually say is that Past-Tedd made FV5 to be a sex-optimized form,” Ellen says. “Tedd gets all blushy if you bring that up now, but there’s more to it than being curvy.”

Ashley does a particular wiggle with her legs and Elliot moves his left arm up and away from Ashley. Ashely extends both legs, toes pointed, and does some dancer’s ankle rotation stretches. Her skirt has ridden up and all of Ashley’s legs show, all the shifts of toned muscle. Elliot’s arm comes back down as Ashley’s legs come back in and Ashley curls out, to be resting more on the right chair arm and looking across at Ellen and Nanase. Elliot’s left hand hooks over Ashley’s left knee and his right hand goes on her ribs, under her right shoulder.

“You two have that down to a science.” Nanase has her eyes open again.

“Talking about Tedd started awkward,” Elliot says.

“If Ellen wanted that from someone else, it would bother me,” Nanase says. “If Ellen wanted someone else more it would bother me a lot.”

“If I wanted Ellen to turn me into things?” Ashley’s voice has no excitment in it.

Elliot pulls back on both of Ashley’s knees anyway because Ashley’s quivering.

“They’re mostly raunchy things.” Ashley doesn’t quite sound embarrassed.

Nanase’s head tips back, all the way back until the couch stops it. “Hypothetically,” Nanase says, head coming back up and leaning a little away to look at Ellen, “I get Diane into bed. How’s that?”

“No sobbing Lucy?”

“I take Lucy up on her naked-oil-wrestling-for-charity counter-offer. Practice goes really well.” Nanase’s tone of voice is completely serious.

“I’m for it,” Ellen says. “You get a competitive charismatic to compete with. When you’re all tired from competing, I get you back to help you relax. Maybe it’d be deductive competition.”

“You’re not thinking I’d give you up for a half-elf?” Nanase sounds actually worried.

“I think you need peer competition. I need you happy. You need me to need you happy. You need me to go on being emotionally reliable, ’cause your Mom wasn’t. I need someone who’ll make the effort.”

Ashley makes a faint squeak noise.

Ellen and Nanase look over at the armchair, from leaning back a little and looking at each other. All the space between them disappears to the point Ashley sees their inside breasts lift from smooshing together.

“Something you said,” Nanase says to Ashley, “months ago now; I don’t remember exactly but basically you’re horny all the time.”

Ashley lifts her head up sideways off the easy chair arm enough to nod.

“I’m like that. Ellen is really like that.”

“There’s a time commitment,” Ellen says.

“I get what you’re saying but honestly that sounds wonderful,” Ashley says, quietly and somewhat to Elliot’s left knee.

“Somebody to turn into things and indulge my impulse for an evil laugh would be great,” Ellen says, tone carefully speculative. “It’d be tough not to get raunchy. FV5 **makes** you raunchy, I should be really clear about that. You’d want to do things you might not want to do if you weren’t transformed. If it got raunchy it’d get intense.”

“It’s the surrender part,” Nanase says. “I’m in favour of intensity.” Nanase puts her forehead gentle into the side of Ellen’s head, and whispers. “I want you to get _enough_.”

“I like firm,” Ashley says. “I like clear expectations.”

“Firm?” Ellen and Nanase say it at the exact same time.

“Something to push back against,” Ashley says. “Running away when I get excited’s no use.”

“You can’t be weirder than we are,” Ellen says, smiling.

“Is anyone going to ask me?” Elliot’s almost plaintive.

Ellen’s eyes go a little hooded. “Tell me you don’t want to get your hands on Nanase’s tits.”

“Past fantasies are no guarantee of current intentions,” Elliot says piously. Ashley snorts.

“I’m pretty sure Nanase isn’t trying to seduce me.” Elliot’s voice is full of an easy confidence.

“I’m not,” Ellen says.

Nanase’s head snaps around to stare at Ellen from hardly any distance.

“You’ve got a twin fetish,” Ellen says to Nanase, looking back on a slant. “You won’t do anything because you know you shouldn’t, and you know you won’t. But you can’t stop thinking about your head in the middle of two Ellens worth of boobs.”

“Oh,” Ashley says.

“And now _you’re_ afflicted,” Nanase says to Ashley, grinning.

“Elliot almost worked.” Nanase’s voice is suddenly serious. “It didn’t work because I’m not into boys, but everything _else_ worked and it feels like failure. There’s a temptation to prove to myself it would have worked because that way I feel more secure about Ellen. That doesn’t make any sense, Elliot and Ellen are different, but it’s there.”

Ellen hugs Nanase with enough determination that Nanase’s legs end up over Ellen’s. “We’re not that different,” Ellen says, meaning being unable to make a relationship work with either duplicate is a bad sign for a relationship with the other duplicate. Ellen has to think _didn’t_ , carefully, about Nanase and Elliot’s relationship. _Couldn’t_ , even with the careful orientation caveats, can send Ellen’s mind bad places.

“I kinda want to hug everybody,” Elliot says. “But this might be enough for today.”

“Yeah,” Nanase says. “I haven’t asked my mother about the travel time, I haven’t booked anything.”

Ashley starts moving; it ends with Ashley facing Elliot, kneeling with her knees outside Elliot’s legs on the armchair.

Ashley puts the palms of her hands on the front of Elliot’s shoulders. “If I didn’t know you, would you want to?”

“The dress-dummy part, sure,” Elliot says. “It makes Nanase happy, it makes Ellen happy, it’s a road trip.”

“Not the other stuff?”

“I want time to think,” Elliot says. “I want everybody to have time to think.”

* * *

Elliot and Ashley are on a park bench, two whole days later. Nobody’s nearby. They’ve walked far enough that their ice cream cones are almost gone.

“I asked Tedd’s dad,” Elliot says. “Because the pamphlet was so vague. I got a phone number; the phone number belongs to the student health clinic at the magical college. I talked to a nurse. Magic does override contraception; nothing’s reliable. Even transformations, because magic has a flair for the dramatic. Tedd’s dad says the TF gun isn’t a certain exception, especially because it was originally designed to enable reproduction.” Elliot blushes, but less than the first time they talked about contraception.

“Anyway, the nurse says students get free access to magic contraception, but you have to be enrolled.” Elliot takes a breath. “And eighteen or over.” The nurse had been firm about that point. Elliot had said thank you for the information. He’ll be nineteen before classes start; Ashley just after.

“Another three months,” Ashley says.

“Looks like,” Elliot says.

“I think it’s wonderful that you’re so responsbile and the girl sex is”—Ashley is blushing a little—“so good Liz told me I couldn’t tell her anything about it any more but when we get working contraception you had better not have any plans for an entire weekend.”

“Deal.” Elliot shouldn’t ever try to waggle his eyebrows; Ashley giggles anyway.

The last bite of Ashley’s ice cream cone gets swallowed with more force than it requires. “That conversation, two day ago. Was that bad?” Ashley isn’t sure how to ask the question.

“You’re not bad,” Elliot says. “The conversation was awkward but you didn’t start it and nothing could have made it less awkward.”

Elliot finishes his ice cream cone.

“I trust you. I trust Ellen. I’m more introspective than Nanase.” Elliot looks up and outward. “Nanase won’t know how she feels about it until afterwards.”

“I’m trying not to climb into your lap all the time,” Ashley says, getting up and stretching. “It’s just too nice.”

Elliot settles himself square to the bench and puts his arms out.

Ashley sits down sideways on Elliot’s lap, tucks her knees up under her chin, rests her feet on the bench, puts her arms around her knees, and leans into Elliot, who puts his arms around her.

“Do you want to risk it?” Ashley’s internally at war between caution, normlacy, horniness, and curiousity.

“Kinda want to know if _you_ want to risk it.” Elliot’s speaking quietly, into the top of Ashley’s hair. “I’m not risking much.”

“Hrrm?” Ashley has her doubts about Elliot’s level of risk.

“Ellen’s family. Nanase can’t get that mad at Ellen or me.”

“Not without breaking up.” Ashley sounds nervous.

“Not very likely.” Elliot’s not worried. “They talk. They really love each other.” Elliot makes a serious face, and stage-whispers. “It’d be admitting Nanase’s mother was right.”

Ashley curls forward; the involuntary laugh doesn’t get out.

“Seriously, Nanase hates being wrong. Nanase hates not being strong enough more than being wrong. This’d be both.” Elliot’s voice is calmly certain. It helps Ashley as a whole, but not Ashley’s internal caution.

“If you go on this trip and it’s embarrassing and Nanase doesn’t smooch you and you get back and find out that I had outright sex with Ellen and I want to do it again, are you going to be mad?”

“Nope.” Elliot’s grinning. “You like being transformed, you like boobs, I don’t get the mwahaha stuff. You aren’t opposed to symmetry.”

“Symmetry eventually has you smooching Ellen if I get brave about Nanase,” Ashley says, quietly. “Knowing the whole story, I think that’s hot.”

The most Elliot manages to say sounds almost like “Spluck”.

* * *

“Any more undressed and talk is out of the question,” Ellen says.

Nanase sits up. Nanase slumps a bit. “Am I being selfish?”

“No.” Ellen’s tone is gentle.

Nanase isn’t especially reassured.

“You’re not worried Ashley is evil after all?” Ellen doesn’t think so, but wants to check.

“Ashley’s not evil.” Nanase’s expression goes twisted. “She’s not easy to read.”

“Good and innocent are different,” Ellen says. “Ashley can be implausibly good and like kinky sex.”

“Kinky?”

“Transformation fetishes are pretty kinky,” Ellen says. “Especially if you don’t know they’re possible. It’s kinkier when it’s all a brain thing.” Ellen inhales. “When you find out transformation is a real possibility and being transformed changes what you like and you kinda want to do it _more_ , that’s really kinky.”

Nanase sprawls backward, crossways on Ellen’s bed. Ellen’s legs go over Nanase’s stomach, and Nanase puts her left arm over both of Ellen’s legs and holds Ellen’s right, closer, foot with her right hand. “We think it’s normal.”

“Locally, it is,” Ellen says. “We’ve got free access to something impossible. Maybe it’s only kinky if it isn’t easy.” Ellen squeeze Nanase’s nearer shoulder. “We think it’s fun.” Ellen’s sure it is.

“This trip thing something you want to happen?”

“FV5 was a way for past-Tedd to do anything and everything without having to think about gender or desire,” Ellen says. “It would all be the transformation’s fault. I want to be faithful to you. Defining faithful with sex is tough.”

Nanase wiggles out from under Ellen’s legs and up the bed to hold on to Ellen with their faces together. “It is.”

“No surprises?” Ellen isn’t sure that’s enough. “I notice people, they’re pretty or they’re graceful or they just catch on my libido, and I think _I bet I could make you come_. There are no just-me reasons not to try. I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want to confuse somebody, have them mistake sexual curiousity for wanting some kind of relationship.”

“Don’t want to disappoint Elliot.” Nanase is entirely thoughtful, voice and expression and slightly tipped head.

“Or Mom and Dad,” Ellen agrees. “So if we take the Grace rule idea and extend it? Discuss first, it has to be people we know, no surprises. No ignoring someone’s existing relationships.”

“No dragging anyone into magic,” Nanase says, more grimly than she intended. Nanase’s college plans had nothing to do with Moperville or small secret magical schools hidden in community colleges.

“But we can catch them if they fling themselves,” Ellen says, smiling.

* * *

“Mother insists that if I do this, I take the family car, because it’s more reliable and fully under warranty,” Nanase says. “I think she hopes I’ll get back together with Elliot.”

“At least officially, yeah.” Ellen looks over at Ashley. “Mrs. Kitsune is traditional and strict, but not awful. She thinks the best outcome is Nanase marrying Elliot so Nanase and I have social cover and there’s a prospect of grandchildren.”

“I don’t like this plan.” Ashley would really like to know who is joking how much.

“I’ll register you as a concubine.” Nanase positively leers at Ashley.

“Hey,” Elliot says.

“Mom and Dad are on that trip to Arizona the last week of June.” Ellen cocks an eyebrow at Nanase. “Drive up on Sunday?”

“That’ll work,” Nanase says.

“OK,” Nanase says, “Borrowing. Nobody has to, it’s completely optional. Anything anybody else does doesn’t oblige you, this isn’t a trade. This whole trip is optional; if Elliot gets through the door of this place and thinks it’s sketchy we leave.”

Everybody nods.

“Whatever happens, we don’t tell anyone about it until we’ve all talked it over.” Nanase sounds almost grim.

“Fair,” Elliot says. “If we’re confused, making other people confused doesn’t help.”

“Uncle Edward talks to my mom,” Nanase says. “There are worse subjects but as a reason for mother to admit she knows about magic I don’t want this one.”

Ashley starts to giggle. “Sorry, sorry, it’s the thought of trying to explain all this to _my_ mother.”

“Yeah,” Ellen says. “Mom and Dad know about magic, but we don’t know how much.”

Nanase flickers into coloured replicas of herself, then coalesces.

“We’re doing this?”

“I want to,” Ashley says.

“I’m in.” Elliot has an arm around Ashley.

“I’ve been practicing my mwahahah,” Ellen says.


	2. Road Trip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nanase and Elliot hit the road; Ashley and Ellen get acquainted.

# Thursday morning

“This lingerie trip, there’s a plan?” You couldn’t say it was a concerned voice; Mrs. Dunkel sounds like she could consider being apologetic, because _of course_ there is a plan, but a mother has to ask.

“There’s a plan.” Ellen has been thinking about what to say. “Elliot and I have discussed it in detail.”

“Not surprising anyone?”

“Giving everyone the opportunity to pay attention?” Ellen sounds a little wry.

Mrs. Dunkel grins. “Maybe Nanase will pay attention next time.”

“I hope so.” Ellen is entirely certain it’s a good plan. Ellen is entirely certain that, once Nanase starts paying attention, Nanase will agree. It’s not the same thing as knowing it will work, or that Nanase won’t feel surprised, no matter what’s been discussed ahead of time.

Mrs. Dunkel hugs Ellen, briefly and fiercely. “Try not to be sad when we get back?”

“I’ll try,” Ellen says, touched. Her mother is usually demonstrative with food.

Elliot and their father are coming back in from packing the family car. It’s going to sit in the airport secure parking for a week and a weekend while her parents fly to Arizona and back.

“Don’t do anything once you don’t want to keep doing,” her father is saying, completely serious, and Elliot is nodding.

# Sunday

“This is annoyingly early.” Ellen isn’t generally in favour of mornings.

“It’s a long drive,” Nanase says, nuzzling Ellen in front of her right ear. “There’s coffee, but I don’t want Elliot emulating your caffeinated state.”

“Meanie.”

Nanase takes a couple of steps back. Ellen stretches, yawning. Her hair is tousled and shimmering shades of green; no cosmetic going-outside transformations just yet for today.

Ashley blushes and turns away; the stretch was determined enough that the large loose sleep shirt Ellen is wearing rose up sufficiently that Ashley’s certain it’s the only thing Ellen is wearing besides fuzzy slippers.

Ellen settles into a balanced stance, feet a bit more than shoulder width apart, and presses the palms of her hands together with the tips of her fingers just below her chin. There’s a tangle of green light, shockingly bright.

Nanase makes an appreciative noise, then says “That’s…”

“About where the boobs would be by Christmas,” Ellen says. “This place is expensive. Might as well wind up where you want to go.”

Nanase blushes just enough for it to be certainly visible.

Ellen’s waist looks narrower, but probably isn’t. It’s likely all an increase in the width of Ellen’s hips. Ellen’s shoulders have stayed as wide as her hips and her legs and arms are heavier with muscle. Heavier generally, Ashley thinks, deeper through the ribs and larger, stronger bones. Ellen’s lips are maybe a little fuller; Ashley can’t tell for certain. Nothing else about Ellen’s face seems altered; her green eyes are bright with the last small bit of transformation magic. The just-past-the-shoulder length of Ellen’s hair has become a green tide to the middle of her thighs.

Ashley’s gaze moves off Ellen’s face, where the momentary slitted dragon-pupils have gone round again and the green in Ellen’s eyes has no more gold or burning in it. Ashley is a wizard from that same dragon-magic.

Ashley makes a valiant effort to go back to looking at Ellen’s face. “Your shirt, ah,”—Ashley seizes her composure—“rode up.” The shirt has a lot more in it. Ashley wonders if her eyes will do that, if or when she achieves enough magical power. Ellen’s pupils are much wider than the clear morning light through the Dunkel’s kitchen windows could explain.

“Whoops.” Ellen finds this whoops no kind of exciting; she pulls her left arm out the neck of the T-shirt, and the off-the-shoulder length drops the hem. It might drop it far enough.

“How does that _work_?” Ashley says.

“Magic bra,” Nanase says. “Any kind of enhanced-by-magic physical feature seems to get reinforced.”

“Wanna bounce them?” Ellen’s stuck a hip out to make the offer to Ashley. Nanase produces something like a stern look.

“After Elliot matches?” Ellen says, grinning at Nanase.

“Mostly matches,” Elliot says. “Blonde or brunette?” gets directed to Nanase.

“Blonde,” Nanase says.

Elliot’s wearing a T-shirt, an unbuttoned sleeveless collared shirt, cut off jeans almost to his knees, socks and sneakers. It looks odd.

Ellen holds out a hand; Elliot steps over and takes it. Elliot’s eyes close and thirty seconds later when Elliot’s eyes open again Elliot’s body matches Ellen exactly except for blonde hair and grey eyes.

Ashley has both hands curled under her chin and a beatified expression. Nanase smiles. Elliot smiles at Ashley.

“Have to give the spell something to work with about clothes,” Elliot says. She sounds exactly like Ellen.

“Silk T-shirt?” Ashley says.

Elliot nods. “I don’t recommend magic’s ideas about poly-cotton bras.” Elliot gives a half-shrug. “And sometimes the clothes don’t change back.”

After the transformation Elliot’s wearing an unhemmed denim skirt, considerably shorter than the cutoffs were, sheer over-the-knee socks, the same style of sneakers, the bra the T-shirt turned into, and the still-unbuttoned but now fitted sleeveless shirt. The open shirt makes it obvious that Elliot’s abs are sharply defined.

“I’m sorry I’m staring,” Ashley says. “You’ve changed forms for me lots of times, it’s” and Ashley loses coherency.

“Two at once is more than twice the effect,” Nanase says.

“I’m thinking about whether the bra cups would go over my head,” Ashley says, face red.

Ellen swings an old-fashioned round, adjustable stool out from under the counter, points at it, and says “Sit!” to Ashley.

Ashley comes over and sits down, nervous and expectant and uncertain.

“Keep looking straight ahead,” Ellen says, and adjusts the stool height by spinning Ashley around slowly five or six turns.

Ellen leaves Ashley facing to one side relative to her and Elliot. They take a step forward each and lean in, arms outstretched to the side and palms touching. It puts their faces close, but not touching; their faces wouldn’t quite touch even if Ashley’s head wasn’t squished between their breasts.

Ashley goes a little limp, arms coming up to hold Elliot and Ellen around their hips. After a while, there’s a wiggle and Ashley pulls outward on both hip bones. Elliot and Ellen lean back, hands separating when they’re upright, and Elliot takes a small step back.

“Your turn?” Ellen’s look toward Nanase is entirely wicked.

“I have to drive,” Nanase says. “When we get back?”

“Deal,” Elliot and Ellen say in unison.

Elliot steps further back and crouches; it puts her head at the same level as Ashley’s. Ashley turns her face toward Elliot; when Ashley’s facing out enough from Ellen’s cleavage to kiss Elliot kisses her.

“I want you to have the best time,” Elliot says, breaking from the kiss.

Ashley nods, and puts her arms around Ellen, snuggling in a little. “Me, you, too.” It’s quiet. Ashley’s brain isn’t currently working.

Elliot smiles and goes out. The car’s already packed; there was no sensible reason to wake Ellen up before they were ready to get on the road.

Nanase arches an eyebrow at Ellen. Ellen grins back.

Nanase floats across the kitchen, and reclines floating in front of Ellen at head level to kiss her thoroughly. Ashley’s eyes are closed and her grip on Ellen doesn’t change.

Nanase floats horizontal over to the kitchen door, feet coming down like a vault dismount to leave Nanase standing in the doorway.

“Love you. Call!” Ellen says, one hand stroking Ashley’s hair.

“Love you, will call!” Nanase says, before walking out to the car.

* * *

It takes Elliot some effort to get the seatbelt shoulder strap arranged. Traffic’s reasonable, early on a Sunday; no one says anything anyway until they’re on the highway.

“Was that really fair to Ashley?” Nanase tries not to make it an accusation.

“Ashley volunteered being smooshed like that as a fantasy,” Elliot says. “We were talking about transformation. I asked about arranging it, since I’d have to tell somebody, and Ashley said it was OK. I asked Ellen about it last week sometime.”

Elliot picks both feet up, stretches her toes forward, sets them down. Male Elliot can’t do that in most cars. It’s much more effective legroom than they’re used to. “Ashley likes safe surprises. She thinks this whole thing is hugely romantic, you’re going to so much trouble for a sexy surprise.”

“And it gets Ashley and Ellen over the first-physical-contact hump.”

“That, too.” Elliot’s entirely pleased.

“You’re not worried?”

“About getting lunch. Not about Ashley.”

“Not sure buttoning your shirt would help.” Nanase is carefully not looking; Nanase is driving. Looking can’t help.

A few more miles go by. “We could go somewhere nice.” Nanase doesn’t do diffident or hesitant. The question still lacks force.

“Kinda expensive?”

“I had the family talk about college,” Nanase says. “I’m sure Uncle Edward got to my parents because they’re in favour of this whole magical school thing.”

“That’s good?” Elliot thinks it’s good; financially it’s better than a full scholarship. It means their friend group will stay together.

“I really want to know what they know,” Nanase says. “I said I was thinking of using some of my college savings to get Ellen something nice and that turned into discussing this trip and Mother went off on a tangent about this marry-the-brother-to-be-with-the-sister example from Japanese history, which in cultural terms is direct orders.”

“Which you don’t like.”

“You deserve better, Ellen deserves better, I deserve better.” Nanase’s tone is clipped, and the car has sped up.

“You might look normal on an X-ray,” Elliot says. “I won’t.”

Nanase nods, sharply; the car slows back down to moving carefully at the speed limit.

“I won’t,” Nanase says. “I didn’t.” There’s a smile. “I still like the spine improvements.”

“Much tougher skin, robust digestion,” Elliot says. “The libido pause button.”

“Very useful,” Nanase says, and a few more miles go by.

“We really can go somewhere nice, or nicer,” Nanase says. “We’re officially going out, the fitting will go better if we act like it, I’d like to practice.” Nanase decides to say it. “Most of the places on the lesbian-safe list are a bit upscale.”

“I’d rather not have to punch any handsy strangers,” Elliot says. “Deal.”

“Just had an awful thought,” Nanase says.

“Elliot Jane Smith has entirely cromulent ID,” Elliot says. “I should go by El, and if someone asks my mother has a real thing for George Elliot and got talked out of George.”

“How’d you get that?”

“Asking Tedd’s dad after that first conversation. I have one for blonde and one for brunette and I don’t even have to give them back. I did have to listen to a couple hours of basic tradecraft.”

“Really?” Nanase sounds delighted.

“Tedd has two sets, so does Grace. Apparently it’s standard for Uryuoms.”

* * *

Lunch took an hour, which is longer than they’d planned for. It had been nice, and El buttoning up her shirt doesn’t help at all.

They’re almost to the car when El puts a hand on Nanase’s elbow and they’re somehow hugging very firmly.

“Thank you for lunch,” El says, and kisses Nanase under the ear. The kiss lingers just too much to be a peck; it’s not more than an acknowledgement that something inviting would be acceptable at some other time.

Nanase’s plaintive “I have to drive” comes paired with a thorough ass-grab. Breaking from the embrace requires willpower, enough willpower that Nanase notices it’s hard to make herself do it.

El stops by her side of the car, opens the door, produces a hairbrush from her bag, and proceeds to braid her mass of blonde hair standing in the open car door. In a single braid, El has enough hair that the much-elasticised end of the braid is thicker than her wrist. The vigorous hair-brushing introduced some resonance Nanase, already in the driver’s seat, couldn’t entirely see.

“There isn’t room in the car,” El says, smiling as they get in.

“Are you teasing me?” Nanase can’t quite believe it.

“The only thing under this skirt is me and a tiny thong,” Elliot says, taking Nanase’s hand and giving it a squeeze. “Being a tease is not the plan.”

Nanase makes a growling noise. The car leaves the restaurant parking lot sedately.

* * *

Nanase has gone out the door from the Dunkel’s kitchen, and closed it behind herself. There was a click. The car starts and purrs away, the sound fading. Ashley hasn’t moved; Ashley’s eyes aren’t open.

Ellen runs a gentle hand over the top of Ashley’s head. Between Ashley’s ponytail and her own cleavage, Ellen can’t reach the back of Ashley’s head without moving somebody.

“Think you can stand up?”

Ashley nods, realizes where her face is, and stands up quicker than she meant to. Ellen puts a hand out to steady her.

“C’mon,” Ellen says and takes Ashley’s hand and leads them upstairs. “I want to go back to bed for a bit. Sleepover rules; you can sit on the bed, you can crawl in, up to you.”

Ellen gets into her bed, sheet over legs, mostly sitting up on pillows. Ashley looks like they’re considering fleeing. Ellen pats the bed beside them gently.

Ashley starts crying. Her skirt comes off and her bra comes out from under her shirt in a blur and then Ashley’s half-collapsed up against Ellen and sobbing.

Ellen holds on, with occasional pats and a lot of wordless murmurs.

Ashley sits up and scrubs at her eyes with the hem of her shirt. Ellen hands her the tissue-box and Ashley blows her nose and collapses backward. Ellen gets her arranged so Ashley’s lying with her head on Ellen’s near thigh and sort of under the sheet.

“I’m sorry,” Ashley says. “I’m so sorry.”

“For what?” Ellen’s honestly curious.

Ashley snuffles a little before choking out “You’re all so nice. Nanase is being nice to me, you’re being nice to me, Elliot’s close to perfect, it’s so scary.”

Ashley’s facing Ellen’s feet and can’t see, but Ellen’s nodding. “I feel like that about Nanase sometimes,” Ellen says. “What’d I do to get this lucky?”

“I try to be cheerful and I try to be good but it’s so scary,” Ashley says. “I’m weird, I know I’m weird, I’m always terrified people will notice I’m weird and that’ll be the end of anything good and you’re not even sure I’m weird.”

“You’re not _bad_ weird,” Ellen says. “You’re our kind of weird.”

Ashley sort of hiccups and nods doubtfully into Ellen’s leg.

“I don’t speak for Elliot,” Ellen says. “I don’t know if you’re going to have a huge fight five years from now. I don’t have Elliot’s altruism kink. You’re still seriously cute. You’re still really easy to like, and my fellow dragon-person. I am totally up for mutual assistance with the permanent horniness.”

Ellen rubs the join of Ashley’s neck and shoulder. “Totally up for listening.”

“I’m just in pieces, I’m sorry,” Ashley says. “I’ve been believing things with willpower and it’s all come apart.”

“What things?” Ellen says, hand on the curve of Ashley’s shoulder.

“This isn’t fake. I always try to believe that, I work at it, and as soon as I really believe it’s real everything falls apart.”

Ellen makes a sympathetic noise; her hand on Ashley’s shoulder grips a little tighter.

“Elliot’s too good to be true, and I” and Ashley hugs Ellen’s legs convulsively.

“Elliot’s squidgy about a lot of things,” Ellen says. “You are not one of those things.”

“Squidgy?”

“Did you ever think you were normal?”

“No?”

“Elliot did.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” Ellen’s voice is full of affection. “There’s a lot of leftover doubt from that. There’s doubt from liking to fight. There’s what I assume is teenager doubt like we all get.”

“More Captain America than Superman.” Ashley’s had this thought for awhile.

“Maybe more Goku,” Ellen says.

Ashley almost snickers.

“I, I, I _asked_ about this,” Ashley says, “I’m not trying to dump it on you, it’s, it’s, there’s this boy who is also a girl who _is_ my fetish and both of them kiss like they mean it and neither of them are pushy and don’t expect me to not like sex or do whatever they want.”

Ashley’s face ducks down, toward Ellen’s thigh, and comes back up. “Then you did the squish, and my brain broke.”

“We thought you’d like it.”

“I did like it. I liked it so much. You’d have to be consciously evil to do that to be cruel when I’m being elaborately ditched. I’m sure Elliot’s not evil at all and I really doubt you are, either.”

Ellen feels a great flash of understanding. “That’s when you figured out that Elliot is serious about you.”

“It’d be easier to believe Elliot’s evil,” Ashley says. “I can’t believe it, but it’d be easier to believe.”

“I can tease Elliot about you,” Ellen says. “Couldn’t, about Sarah, because Elliot knew there was something wrong there.”

“Sarah’s not a perv?” Ashley’s trying for anything but a serious tone, and it doesn’t work.

“Sarah is an immense perv,” Ellen says. “Elliot’s not a perv at all. That was part of the problem; Sarah wants to feel transgressive. Elliot wants changing genders to be as normal for everybody as it is for Elliot.”

“Huh,” Ashley says. “It’s all real. You’re telling me it’s all real.”

“Yeah,” Ellen says. “You’re trying to figure out where the kink is. None of it’s kink.”

“Brain completely broken,” Ashley says. “Completely.”

“Little spoon doesn’t work,” Ellen says. “Lie on your stomach?”

Ashley does; Ellen throws a leg over Ashley’s hips and an arm over her back and the sheet over both of them. Ashely wiggles a little sideways, nestling into Ellen. There’s a lot of boob pressure into Ashley’s back and right side and Ashley decides it counts as squishing along with the weight of Ellen’s leg and arm over her. Ashly turns her head in to smile at Ellen. It’s a tremulous smile, it’s got moments of being outright shaky, but it’s there.

“Let me know if you need or want to move,” Ellen says. “Whether or not I’ve fallen asleep.”

It turns into a mutual nap.

Waking up happens slowly; it happens with a sleepy Ashley turning face-in towards Ellen and holding on with intent. It happens with Ellen being sleepy enough to slide a hand up Ashley’s back under her shirt.

“I think,” Ashley says eventually, “I should either kiss you or get up.”

“And you can’t decide?”

“I can’t decide,” Ashley says. “No deciding brain.”

“Well, I need a shower,” Ellen says. “Want your back scrubbed?”

“Chastely?” Ashley does her very best to produce a neutral voice.

“Chastely is an option,” Ellen says.

Shower caps sized for people with a lot of hair are an option, too. There’s a whole basket full, and a marker. Ellen writes “Ashley” on the plastic pouch for this one because of course she’s going to need it again. Ashley gets into the shower a little teary and not feeling any kind of chaste.

* * *

_Mode de la Reine_ recommends accommodations; Nanase had looked at the other options online, all further away, and decided there was no point in trading money for time.

It wasn’t obvious online if _Le Petit Trianon_ was a large bed and breakfast or a small hotel; it’s not obvious now. The parking lot isn’t large. There isn’t a check-in desk, there’s an office with a teller’s window and a slender cheerful person in an elegant navy dress. The Kitsune reservation is just as expected; the cheerful person has Nanase fill out and sign a standard form and provides a key each, large old-fashioned warded keys with ribbons and a small brass clasp on the ribbon. “You need to turn the key for your room door,” the cheerful person says. “The front door’s a contact plate, you just put the key against it.”

Nanase and El say thank you and carry their bags down the short hall and turn right; Nanase’s key turns in the lock with a _thunk_ and they push through the door, expecting the sort of hotel room just large enough for the bed and a television.

Room Thalia doesn’t have a television.

“Wow,” El says.

Stone floors and scattered carpets are another surprise; the expanse of closet, one whole wall, is another. That wall’s on your right, coming in; the wall opposite the door is mostly window, looking out into small trees and presumably garden, if you could see through the mist of leaves on the trees.

The wall opposite the windows, the wall with the room door in it, has an enormous four-poster bed centred on it. Past the bed, in the wall opposite the wall of closets, there’s a door, almost as far from in from the windows as it can get. Between that door and the window wall there’s a sofa and a coffee table. Along the line of windows there’s a cluster of three hassocks and then a small round table with three chairs, almost in the corner where the window-wall and the closet-wall meet. The hassocks run from “footstool” to “nearly airport furniture”, rectangular and low and leather with a grid of large buttons.

“This is the basic suite,” Nanase says. It’s maybe fifteen feet by twenty and that’s not most of why it isn’t what she expected. “Can we get food?”

Lunch was a long time ago.

Just to the left of the door there’s a recess in the wall; it goes in half the wall’s two-foot thickness. It’s got a house phone. There’s a wire rack next to the phone; the “services for our guests” card is the first thing, facing out. There is indeed food.

“All it says is _Sustenance_ ,” El says.

“It’s included,” Nanase says, rather doubtful. Still, lunch was an increasing long time ago and she’s done nine hours of driving today already.

Nanase picks up the phone and calls the kitchen to order sustenance for two. The quick, fluid interrogation concerning ingredients Madelle might disdain reassures Nanase a little, even if it meant speaking French by surprise.

“They say half an hour,” Nanase says. _Madelle_ was a French attempt at _Ms._ that didn’t catch on; Nanase’s French is fluent enough to take it in stride, but it’s a surprise.

“Time to do laundry,” El says, opening a closet door. Much less nice hotels provide bathrobes; this one ought to.

“Laundry?”

“I refuse to go to a lingerie fitting in a sweaty bra,” El says, smiling at Nanase through her eyelashes.

No bathrobe in the closet; there’s two sections with drawers and shelves and two sections with hangars and a fifth section by the entrance with supplies, extra blankets and an ironing board and luggage stands. Maybe there’s a bathrobe in the bathroom.

On the left there are two large vanities, each with sinks, triple mirrors, and associated flanking cabinets; behind them, toward what’s the window wall in the main room, there are two small rooms or large stalls with a commode each and small sinks. In the far wall of the dressing room, Nanase supposes you have to call it, there’s a doorway with a sliding glass door. Slide that door open and there’s a distinct bathroom with a large claw foot tub to your left along the wall you just came through. To your right, there’s a huge freestanding cabinet full of towels. Turn right a little, following the bronze tiled path, and get around the towel-cabinet and go almost to the back wall and there’s a long sideboard-height shelf along the whole back wall. Up above that, just under the ceiling, is a strip of clerestory windows. The glass in those is a little blue, and the sunlight comes into the bathing room and makes you feel already underwater.

The couple feet of the shelf closest to the towel cabinet have baskets with bathing substances. A sign politely enjoins guests not to use bubble bath in the soaking tub. The immense egg-shaped soaking tub consumes most of floor area; it’s set flush, and if the whole edge has seating you could get sixteen people in it and not tangle up anybody’s legs. Keep following the bronze tiled path and beyond the tub there’s a shower room, seven feet wide by ten deep. Its outside wall is all large glass blocks; in no way see-through, but the shower room is filled with sunlight. There are four shower heads. The floor is heated. The cedar bench against the glass blocks of the outside wall looks hand-made without any metal anything.

“Holy wow.”

“Yeah. I’m starting to feel like they undercharge.” _Maybe they have a deal with Mode de la Reine_ Nanase thinks. She did mention that was the reason for the trip.

Heading back out to the dressing room and looking in the cabinets under the large vanities reveals various supplies; there’s a wash tub and a washboard. There are two drying racks. There’s more than enough room.

“There are bathrobes in the towel cupboard,” Nanase says. She’s brought one.

“Thanks!” El puts the bathrobe on a hanger; there are short clothes rods out from the wall on both sides of each vanity, and the bedroom closet’s blessed with hangars. El’s sleeveless shirt gets unbuttoned and hung on a hanger; the skirt follows.

El’s thong is an intense emerald green. It might not be be a thong; Nanase isn’t sure. Instead of a single back string it’s got an elastic loop up over El’s hips from each side of what would otherwise qualify as enough fabric for some of a thong.

El puts their left foot delicately on the edge of the vanity counter, just the toes, and starts rolling the long sock down off that smooth muscular leg. El gets the other sock off before Nanase moves.

“Right, splashing” comes out a bit strangled; Nanase heads out into the main room as El starts taking off her bra. Which might be hard to explain tomorrow; silk and seamless except for where the wide strap folds back for the six hooks.

El isn’t going to wear a bathrobe to hand-wash; it’ll just get wet. The image is sticking with Nanase.

Ellen said _call_. Nanase pulls her phone out. “Ellen?”

“Hi!”

“We’re at the hotel, trip went fine, dinner will be soon.”

“We’ve got pizza coming.” Ellen makes a noise Nanase associates with stretching. “Did you get that secure chat app?”

“Is that a picture request?” Nanase’s voice goes arch.

“Yes please.”

“After dinner?”

“Sure. Pizza’s here.”

“Love you.”

“Love you.”

_While I’m at it,_ Nanase thinks, and texts her mother that they’re safely at the hotel.


	3. Hormonal Foment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lovely dinner, pleasant company, and smut.

## Sunday Evening

“That was so good.” Nanase sounds surprised. Not a lot surprised, but some.

 _Sustenance_ turned out to be fresh hot loaves of bread, butter, the best ham either of them have ever had, several kinds of cheese, roasted root vegetables, a green salad where neither of them are sure that was even lettuce, and two enormous slabs of fudge cake with fresh raspberries and whipped cream. The raspberries and the whipped cream came in covered insulated dishes. To Nanase’s lasting surprise, there was enough. There isn’t often enough.

There were bottles of mineral water and a litre carafe of something that might have been grape juice. The staffer sent to collect the dishes said it was freshly pressed champagne grapes.

Nanase is fairly sure both staffers, the one who brought the food and the one who came to take the dishes away, are robots. They had no response at all to Nanase or El. The hotel bathrobe is lovely thick fluffy stuff, but it’s both too large and too small for El, and it slides down off El’s shoulders and it gapes, depending. Anybody’d look at the sudden flash of skin. Most people look at Nanase; the red hair and the muscles and the general excellence of build all show in the crop top and shorts Nanase is wearing.

“So I kinda promised Ellen pictures,” Nanase says.

* * *

“I asked for pictures,” Ellen says, and Ashley perks up. The shower, as much of a lapse of chasteness as can be managed upright and eager, a thorough and reciprocated back scrubbing, and a quantity of pizza have improved Ashley’s mood.

None of the pictures are selfies, so Ashley gets pictures from Nanase and Ellen gets pictures from El. The pictures Ashley gets start with El on a hassock facing away, robe puddled around her hips, braid down her back and hands behind her head. The diffuse light from the windows, fine sheer curtains pulled, is entirely kind. Ashley makes a faint noise.

The second picture has El’s arms down; she’s turned to present a full profile. The third picture has El face on with arms wide to hug and an entirely welcoming expression and just starting to stand up, the puddle of robe slipping down her hips.

Ashley says “Gweep” and types “thankyouthankyouthankyou”. El’s welcoming expression was straight at the camera; Ashley wishes intensely for the power of teleportation.

The pictures Ellen gets start with Nanase naked, standing, and facing the camera; the second has Nanase dropping into a low sweep, the third following through the kata, with Nanase turned into a right-facing profile view, settled into bow-and-arrow-stance, and punching. Nanase is standing on the surface of the water in the large soaking pool in the bathing room; the sweep raises a curling wave over Nanase’s sweeping foot, stray droplets glistening off the muscles of Nanase’s extended leg. The underwater light from the blue clerestory windows does strange things; in the standing picture, you can see a reflection of Nanase up maybe to the knees, as though another Nanase was standing down into the water, or this one has been inverted and is really standing under the surface of the sea.

Ellen sends _OOF_ , and hands Ashley her phone. Ashley reciprocates by reflex. Ellen makes a _hmm_ noise at Ashley’s phone before handing it back.

“What’re we sending?” Ellen’s voice has gone considering.

“Could you transform me?” Ashley’s trying not to look away. “Cute and compact isn’t feeling on.”

“You OK?”

Ashley nods. “Smitten in the feels,” Ashley says.

“If I FV5 you,” Ellen says, and Ashley puts up a hand so Ellen stops talking.

“I’ll really want to fuck you or I’ll really want to do what you say?” Ashley has her eyes closed.

“You’ll really want to fuck somebody,” Ellen says. “It’s not suggestible or obedient or something.”

“I really want to fuck you right now,” Ashley says.

“Want to do a sequence?” Ellen’s developing a speculative look.

“Sequence?”

“Elliot’s kinda blah about transforming as transforming,” Ellen says. “Your reaction to transformation is considered hot.”

It takes a bit of setup. It takes combining photos from both phones; the timer settings were different.

Photo one is Ashley and Ellen standing a little apart, facing, hands on each other’s hips; photo two is a full embrace, but maybe just a hug; photo three is Ashley and Ellen with their heads back to look one another in the eye and with a certain tension come into the hug. Ellen’s right hand under Ashley’s shirt, skin-to-skin and flat on the small of Ashley’s back. From the side-on viewpoint, you can only just tell from how Ashley’s shirt has lifted up.

Photo four is the beginnings of a kiss; Ashley’s transforming, the green light’s haloed Ashley completely and her lips are parted and about to touch Ellen’s. From Ashley’s face, Ashley is already orgasming; from Ellen’s face, this is hot and delightful and only the beginning.

Photo five has the Ellen-and-Ashley embrace turning so Ashley’s back is to the camera viewpoint; the green light’s fading, Ashley’s skirt’s very short and Ellen’s hand isn’t under her shirt anymore because the shirt’s coverage wouldn’t make a sports bra. The kiss has become intense; Ellen’s eyes are closed and Ashley’s hands are half on Ellen’s ribs and half on Ellen’s breasts, squeezing in.

Photo six is Ashley and Ellen facing the camera from much closer, a double selfie grinning and topless and with the pupils of their eyes still obviously wide.

* * *

Nanase and El are both in bathrobes and sitting on the couch when their phones bing. Nanase has a cup of tea; El has her eyes closed and is breathing evenly. One of Nanase’s feet is in contact with El’s near thigh. They both reach for their phones.

El types “Holy wow” and hits send. When she looks over at Nanase, Nanase is staring at her own phone. The pause drags; Nanase types quickly, hits send.

Ellen and Ashley both get “Lick her neck for me”, and the sweat droplets emoji.

El gets an eyebrow waggle emoji from Ellen, a kissy face and six hearts from Ashley, and takes on a thoroughly heart-struck expression. Seven hearts go back to Ashley.

“She _is_ evil,” Nanase says, and turns her phone toward El just as El’s phone bings. It’s from Ellen; it’s the same picture to both Nanase and El, it’s another double selfie. Ellen and Ashley are leaning together, still shirtless, and proving that FV5 is bountiful enough to let them lick the nipples of their own breasts. The picture has them both hoisting their outside breast; the nipples of both their inside ones look wet.

“Have a great night,” El sends with two hug emojis.

“You, too” comes back from Ashley. “Dark till morning” comes from Ellen to Nanase.

Nanase sends “No beep before ten.” The scheduled fitting is over at ten A.M.

Ellen sends a tongue emoji back.

“Alarm set?” Nanase is setting her phone down.

El checks, sets their phone down. “Alarm’s set.”

El gets up, goes over to the door. There’s a confirmatory rattle. “Locked.”

They’d had a near-embarrassment that way, before Ellen existed or Nanase broke up with Elliot.

“There’s some sort of massage blanket in the towel…” El gets out before noticing Nanase coming back with it from a trip into the bathroom. Nanase tosses it to El, who shakes it out, figures out which side goes up, and puts it over the couch. It’s sized for the four-poster bed and overwhelms the couch like a drop cloth. The written instructions call it a cover, not a blanket, and request guests not to get massage oil on the bedclothes. That bit of paper goes on the coffee table, under both their phones. El picks the table up and puts it beside the hassocks.

Nanase retrieves a half-litre pump bottle of lube from her luggage, gets the pump part unscrewed and active, and sets it on the stone floor in front of the sofa. The long nitrile gloves go on the sofa’s near arm for later. The rug in front of the sofa gets dragged out of drip range.

Nanase flows up to El, ending with their arms around each other. The kiss isn’t practiced; El isn’t Ellen, and El is much shorter than Elliot, but it isn’t complicated. The wind up touching foreheads.

“Are you the full FV5?” Nanase wants to know; she might not care about which answer she gets.

“All my Ellen-forms,” El says. “Separated airway, no gag reflex, lubricity, capacity, all there.” El’s hands glide up and down on Nanase’s back, stopping on Nanase’s hips again. “This one’s exact-exact, not just appearance.” Which was tricky because this isn’t Ellen’s baseline form. Replicating default forms is easier.

Nanase gets a slow smile, and starts undoing the belt holding El’s bathrobe closed. Without the belt, it falls open and off El’s shoulders; with El’s arms pointed down, it falls off entirely.

“These things,” Nanase says before sucking El’s right nipple from inverted to everted, “aren’t fair.” On their own, FV5 nipples stay inverted, no matter how turned on you are.

“You don’t _have_ to use bra inserts,” El says, breath catching when Nanase licks firmly across the everted nipple. FV5 comes with huge nipples. The nipples come with dense nerve endings through more than their entire surface plus sensitivity that starts high, increases with arousal, and spreads. The whole attaches to what was already a very short fuse.

“I’m _active_ ,” Nanase says. “Idiots make assumptions. It’s inserts or punching.” Nanase punctuates this by everting El’s left nipple.

Nanase knows what to expect, and puts a whole forearm against El’s back. El says upright while the orgasm shudders through her.

Nanase dances them around a half circle and opens her own robe; it doesn’t have time to fall all the way off before Nanase sits on the sofa, knees wide apart.

“Show me the ear breathing?” Nanase doesn’t make this sound entirely like a question.

El leans forward from the hips to kiss Nanase; Nanase’s hands come up on to El’s sides, running up to her breasts and then one firm hand on the back of El’s head, controlling the kiss. It’s by reflex, rather than consideration, though they both enjoy it. Breaking the kiss, El squats down, gathers up her bathrobe into something to kneel on, and leans in.

Both of Nanase’s hands trail lightly up from El’s neck to the back of El’s head as Nanase’s head tips back.

* * *

“Can you transform me again?” Ashley’s voice is purely hopeful.

“Into?”

“I want to come like that again. Anything where I come like that and I can make you come to say thank you,” Ashley says, and means it. Ashley’s leaning on Ellen, a definite slippery weight of warmth and smelling like _yes_.

Ashley’s had a few more orgasms; Ashley’s still in her socks and the tiny skirt the FV5 transformation left her in. There hasn’t been a reason to remove the skirt; there isn’t enough of it to get in the way. FV5 makes you sensitive, FV5 makes it difficult for your doubts or your will to get in the way of orgasming, and FV5 gives you stamina. Ashley has been enjoying all of this, in herself and in Ellen, tremendously. Being able to make Ellen come from light ear nibbling delights Ashley.

Ellen’s in favour. A lover where Ellen can presume equivalent sexual stamina’s new; Nanase’s physical stamina is superhuman, but six or seven orgasms in any particular day is enough. It’s obvious Ashley’s brain recovers easily; Ashley will fade out mid-sentence and return five minutes later to finish the sentence a little breathless. So far Ellen’s made her come from kissing, sustained neck-nibbling, teasing her ears, and what didn’t involve enough pressure to be a boob-grope. Just too firm to be ticklish stroking up the undersides works very well. Ellen’s pretty sure an untransformed Ashley’s sensitive below her breasts, and has made a mental note for later.

They are in the Dunkel’s basement, which is mostly full of exercise machines. They’re on the old couch against the back wall with three towels down. Ellen would rather launder towels than sheets.

They’re the same height, but Ellen’s dress-up form is more muscular. Ellen stretches out her arms and says “lap”. It gets Ashley seated crossways on Ellen’s lap, left leg outside Ellen’s left leg and right foot outside Ellen’s right thigh, so Ashley’s right knee is raised. Ashley’s leaning back; Ellen grabs a spare towel and wads up it up under Ashley’s head, to hold it up next to hers. Ellen can feel the anticipation and the arousal singing through Ashley’s pulse, feel the faint quiver of risk and desire working through Ashley’s muscles. Ashley wants everything and expects nothing and treats every time Ellen touches her like stepping into an abyss. She’s very very high on gentle landings and kindness, even more than the repeated teasing orgasms.

“FV5 doubles,” Ellen says. “It takes more magic, I have to use both hands, you’ll be even more overbuilt and a complete helpless fuck doll,” Ellen says.

“Oh, please, _yes_ ,” Ashley says on three separate exhales into the side of Ellen’s face. Ellen’s left hand slides up Ashley’s bare back to rest between her shoulder blades; Ashley hard curled a little forward, and slumps back a little more, to put pressure back into Ellen’s hand.

Ellen grins at the entirety of Ashley’s surrender, at her own _How does Ashley get hornier than this?_ thought, and from rising arousal. _Enthusiastic helpless fuck doll_ sounds like all the fun.

“Ready?” Ellen purrs, right hand drifting down the inside of Ashley’s raised right thigh.

“Yeah,” Ashley says, starting to shudder. The anticipation’s enough to make her come, just a little. Ashley’s throat works. Enough of her brain’s working to realize this is going to be intense, and to want it, even if it’s intense enough to take her personality apart.

“One,” Ellen says, low and throaty up into Ashley’s ear. Ellen’s right index finger makes a slow brush over Ashley’s clit on the way to sliding between her labia, pausing, and curling inside. It’s the first time Ellen’s touched Ashley’s pussy and Ashley comes, hard.

Ellen rocks her index finger in and out until Ashley’s mostly stopped orgasming. Much too slowly from Ashley’s perspective, Ellen slides her middle finger and index finger into Ashley’s pussy together. “Two,” Ellen says, husky and promising and aroused, thumb coming down to put a little soft pressure on Ashley’s clit. Everything’s slippery and hot and lost to restraint; Ashley is entirely in the grip of her nerve endings and desire. She goes right back up into the next orgasm with an uncontrolled whole-body arch and shudder and a breathy faint _ooh_ that goes on and on until it catches on the imperative inhale.

On Ashley’s third rapid, air-dragging, shuddering, desperate for breath inhale Ellen says _Three_ as definite and commanding, her index and middle fingers sliding back out of Ashley and index, middle, and ring fingers sliding in. The green light of Ellen’s transformation magic fills Ashley between Ellen’s hands, insistent and compelling. Ellen comes; the intensity and force of the magic splashes back to Ellen full of Ashley’s joy and surrender and orgasms.

Ashley makes no sound at all; her head’s back, her mouth is open, and her quivering body has become wholly implausibly lush and inviting.

Ellen, still in the grip of her own aftershocks, puts both arms around Ashley and pulls her close. Ashley shudders into a complete boneless relaxation, and Ellen has to work at it to keep Ashley’s head up.

Ashley stays completely limp for long enough Ellen’s starting to worry. Then there’s a soft wet tongue-touch on the side of Ellen’s neck, and Ashley stands up just long enough to straddle Ellen, leaning in for as much contact as she can get.

There’s a kiss, and another kiss, both completely abandoned from Ashley’s side, and then Ashley leans back, hands on the top of the couch.

“It is OK if I call you Mistress?” Ashley’s words come out husky and happy and full of a willingness to try new things.

“Yeah,” Ellen says. “You want me to do things to you?”

“Oh yes please Mistress,” Ashley says.

Ellen motions for Ashley to stand up, stands up herself, and pats the couch where they were sitting. “Hands and knees, facing that way” Ellen says, pointing. Ashley does it; it’s more elbows and knees, double-FV5 breasts bulging between Ashley’s upper arms. Double FV5 didn’t make the skirt shorter, but it did give it side-slits to the waistband. Ellen grins at it. Ellen hooks a toe under the couch and pulls out the opaque Rubbermaid container; it’s got some long blue gloves and some lube in it, along with some of Nanase and Ellen’s toys.

Ashley shows no sign of being anything but entirely blissfully relaxed while Ellen pulls on gloves and applies an excessive dollop of lube to her fingers. Double FV5 doesn’t need extra lube, not physically. Ellen expects the slightly cool temperature and different slithering texture and sense of anticipation will do good things to Ashley’s brain.

Ellen leans down and husks “Let’s see how much fisting toy Ashley can take” close to Ashley’s ear. Ashley says _ooh_ and turns her face toward the sofa-back. Ellen half-kneels, half-crouches with her right knee on the couch in the space between Ashley’s left knee and breasts. Ellen’s right hand slides two fingers into Ashley’s pussy and her left hand leaves a line of lube across Ashley’s back and left hip that ends with her index finger curled round on to Ashley’s clit and her palm pressing gently up.

Ellen smiles at Ashley’s low moan and at how Ashley’s hips have rocked back seeking more pressure and more volume. Ellen says _mwahaha_ in a low throaty voice and starts to add fingers.


	4. Clothes Fitting and Car Trouble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clothes fitting happens, and then the car won't start.

## Monday Morning

Nanase and El walk through the door at Mode de le Reine hand in hand. It’s five minutes to nine; they’re a little surprised the door is open.

They’d guess the receptionist is in her fifties; she has very short grey hair and says pleasantly “Kitsune appointment?”

Nanase nods.

“Proof of age?”

Nanase Kitsune and Elliot Jane Smith dutifully produce their ID; the receptionist accepts it, and checks it. There’s enough beeping that checking their ID was more involved than visual inspection.

Handing their ID back, the receptionist points to the leftmost of three doors. “Through there, please.”

Nanase and El go that way; the door opens before they get to it.

“Do please come in!” It’s a friendly voice from a fashionable person. They’ve risen from a single chair across from a short leather divan, wide enough for two people. There’s a table in between; it’s got two clipboards. There’s a side counter with a coffee maker and water and various mugs and glasses.

“Hi, I’m Pat,” the person says. They gesture at the clipboards. “We need an NDA from both of you concerning garment designs you may observe; we need the measuree to sign a permission form for photography, which includes clothed and nude still photography, full body laser mapping and modelling which is necessarily nude, and motion capture taken while you’re nude.”

El has picked the closer clipboard up and started reading.

“We’re extremely careful about security; clients have the option of requesting copies, requesting sole copies, or requesting destruction of all visual records after garment delivery.”

Nanase squeezes El’s knee, briefly, and looks across at Pat. “This is a surprise.”

“Poor security to tell everyone there’s something here they might want,” Pat says. “Tailor’s tape doesn’t give us individual dress forms.”

“It’s OK,” El says to Nanase, squeezing Nanase’s knee in return. El smiles. “Though if I’d known the rumour was true I’d have worn shorter socks.”

Pat’s professional smile has a moment of personal amusement.

Paperwork complete, Nanase and El hand their clipboards to Pat, who signs for Mode de la Reine. Nanase and El’s copies go in El’s bag.

Pat gets up; Nanase and El do, too.

“Tea? Coffee? Bathroom?” Pat says, to a pair of head-shakes. It was a ten minute walk from Le Petit Trianon, and breakfast is in no danger of wearing off yet.

The corridor behind the black glass door goes a long way; they wind up passing through a steel door into thoroughly industrial space. There are air ducts overhead; the floor has the rigid feel of tile over concrete. The lights are modern LEDs, and the space doesn’t have anything recognizable as a cutting table or a sewing machine.

Neither El nor Nanase recognize what it does have; there’s a machine that looks like some large refrigerators panelled in green enameled steel got into a huddle; there’s a carpeted platform with things overhead; there’s what looks like a framed drywall enclosure to their left coming in. There’s a miscellany of storage from small totes up to heavy industrial shelves and cabinets. The shelves in particular have unrecognizable things.

There’s three someones there.

“Hi Josie,” Pat says; “This is Nanase and El. El’s here to be measured.”

The lead person’s got long brown hair and delicate features; they’re also at least six feet tall and wearing biker-style leather pants and a folk-style leather vest. The shirt under the vest is of an extremely conservative Oxford cut. It’s made from a tropical print in magenta and cream.

“Hello!” Josie says, offering to shake hands. Nanase and El do. Josie gestures behind themself; “Alphonse”, on El and Nanase’s left, very black, wearing a kufi and a caftan, and “Helen”, on El and Nanase’s right, who is wearing a white chiton and looking friendly. Helen doesn’t look especially Mediterranean, despite the chiton; short orange hair does not accord with the imagery of classical antiquity.

“I’ll be back to get you in about an hour,” Pat says to Nanase and El, before going out. The heavy door goes clunk behind them, leaving a silence.

“First time clients?” Josie says without managing to make it sound like a question.

“Yes,” Nanase says, while El nods.

“I’m the designer,” Josie says. “Alphonse and Helen are my apprentices. They do most of the machine-wrangling. We start off by taking a complete set of measurements; we want to be sure we won’t need to ask you to come back. Then we discuss the type of design you might want.”

“OK.” Nanase and El get close to perfect unison.

“El’s the blonde?”

“El’s the blonde,” El says.

“If you could stand on the platform?” Josie says, pulling a cloth tape from a vest pocket.

El kicks off her shoes to do that. The carpet’s more like non-skid runner than dig-your-toes-in pile. The platform feels every bit as solid as the entirely industrial floor.

Alphonse sets a clothes tree just to the right of the platform. It’s a nice wooden one with large smooth hangar knobs. Alphonse does not say anything, though they do almost bow.

“Everything off?” El asks Josie.

“Down to bra and undies first, please,” Josie says. El grins at Nanase and starts unbuttoning her shirt. Helen has done something with some wall-mounted controls; a pair of large heat lamps come on up by the ceiling, neatly focused on the platform. The bloom of warmth is instant. El appreciates it. It’s not necessary, but it feels nice and it was thoughtful.

Shirt off, skirt off, El starts rolling down one sock. Alphonse provides a stackable chair; having something to put her foot on simplifies the whole thing for El, who tosses both socks over the same arm of the clothes stand and turns to look at Josie. Alphonse, who had been looking away the whole time, whisks the chair away just after El is certainly done with it.

Josie says things like “arms up please” and “feet together please” to El; Helen has a tablet, and records a series of numbers, starting with bust-waist-hips and proceeding through a sequence of details. Josie has gloves on, fabric ones, that are surprisingly cool where they touch El. Right and left arms get measured separately, point of shoulder to point of elbow to hinge of wrist, and right and left legs similarly. There are hand measurements and many details of the neck; the whole thing takes almost ten minutes.

Every now and then through the ten minutes, El looks across at Nanase and smiles. Nanase does her best to smile back without worrying.

Nanase has no body modesty as such herself, but she does have a strong sense of appropriateness. This whole thing feels awkwardly impersonal without feeling the least bit medical or actually strictly necessary; this is something El is doing as a favour to Nanase and Nanase would entirely hate to do it herself.

Josie says “Bra off, please” in the least interested tone of voice El thinks she’s ever heard anyone use. The bra goes on the clothes tree.

Josie’s pattern of motion stops. “Has there been recent work?” takes El a second longer to understand than Nanase, who says “All hers” in a carrying voice before El can say anything.

“May I squish your breasts?” Josie is maintaining their complete lack of interest.

“Uh,” is about all El manages to say.

“They’re extraordinarily firm,” Josie says. “The usual compression allowance will be wrong.”

“Squish away,” El says, arms raised to shoulder height and hands up like saying “Don’t shoot!”. El’s figured out that Josie thinks she has implants. It’s not an unreasonable thing to suppose; even if magic isn’t precisely secret anymore, who can do what with magic isn’t any kind of public knowledge.

The grin over to Nanase is real; El enjoys the attention, the idea Josie wants to do the best possible job for her even if it isn’t going to be her, really, but Ellen. The physical sensation of being carefully hefted is pleasant. Josie’s gloves are cool, still, but under the heat lamps that’s fine, too.

“May I ask why you wear a bra?” Josie says to El; there’s a real attempt to make it a question about the question.

“It’s expected,” El says. “And avoiding chafing.”

“Would you like an over-gown?” Josie says. “The next step is the laser mapping.”

“Undies off?” El says, and gets two nods, one from Josie and one from Helen.

“Do you wish the mapping to have your nipples visible?” Josie says it to El.

“One vote for ‘yeah’,” Nanase says, carefully nonchalant.

“Yeah,” El says. “Can everybody look away?”

Everybody who isn’t Nanase does, with full-body turns; Nanase walks up to El, who steps down off the platform and turns herself to face away. Nanase hugs El from behind before both forearms lift at the same time. “You’re being wonderful” comes out in a whisper; El turns her head to kiss Nanase, gently, with implied promises for later.

“This is hot,” gets whispered in Nanase’s ear; Nanase doesn’t think El means the heat lamps. Nanase would rather have used her mouth, but that’s both of El’s nipples out.

El tosses their tiny green almost-thong over an arm of the clothes tree and says “Do I stay here?”

The response is Alphonse opening two of the green enameled panels on the large machine that looks like a huddle of refrigerators. At least those two panels are doors. Alphonse doesn’t do a sweeping bow of invitation, but the impression gets created. El walks over, realizes there’s a pair of footprints marked on the floor inside the machine, and stands on them.

“It is an extremely low-powered laser,” Josie says. “We still recommend closing your eyes, because the reflections inside the mapper can be disorienting. Each individual mapping cycle takes about two minutes, and there are four.”

El nods. The machine’s quite large; stretching out her arms wouldn’t let her touch the walls of the space.

“No issues with claustrophobia?”

“None,” El says.

Alphonse closes the doors.

“Can you hear us?”

“I can hear you.” El voice doesn’t even echo.

“Please stand upright, feet together, hands at your sides. Laser in five seconds.” Josie makes an indication at Helen, who does something with the tablet. A light goes on over the mapping enclosure door, five amber LEDs. There’s a faint humming sound.

Josie looks at Nanase. “Avoiding distress?”

Nanase nods. “We weren’t expecting this.” _I am pretty sure El’s enjoying being the centre of attention_.

“We try not to need fittings,” Josie says. “Get it right the first time.”

After the laser mapping is done, there’s a series of photos; the same series, twice, the first time against a white backdrop and the second time against a brownish-grey backdrop. There’s a careful set of face shots, almost like a mug shot only from the clavicles up and for every five degrees instead of just facing and profile. These are taken with fiddly precise lights and with a full colour chart on both sides of El’s head. There are surprisingly quick hand and foot virtual casts with specific small laser devices. There’s a rapid set of dabs with white wipe-off paint, and a requested set of motions for the motion-capture process.

After the third time through the set of motions, Helen produces a thumbs up; Alphonse produces one a little later from where they’re standing in front of what is probably a machine. Josie says “You may get dressed now,” to El, handing Nanase a container of paint-wipes. Josie and Alphonse and Helen head through the internal door, into the framed office or break room on the left of the door in to the workspace.

Nanase does her best to be strictly business wiping paint off El. Any ideas can wait for later. El takes one of Nanase’s hands and squeezes it. El gets dressed.

“Could you come with us, please?” has Josie lead them a little further into the whole working space, where there are several comfy chairs, a blank wall painted with a projection screen, and a projector on a pipe down from the ceiling, still all metal and trusses and ductwork.

Nanase and El can fit in a single large leather armchair, and do. Helen and Alphonse sit carefully to El and Nanase’s right on somewhat less comfy chairs.

Josie the designer stays standing, up toward the wall screen. They make a set of vigorous thumb-presses on a remote control; the overhead lights dim and the screen lights up. It’s a wire frame figure, no polygons at all. It’s clearly El. “We have a useful model,” Josie says. “You expressed interest in a boudoir garment.”

“I thought that meant corset,” Nanase says.

Josie smiles. “Corset and over-robe is a popular choice.”

“I am expecting to spend some money,” Nanase says, “but not all the money.”

“Mode de la Reine maintains a design archive,” Helen says. “Permission to retain model information is associated with a substantial price reduction.”

El and Nanase nestle closer together. “I don’t think we’d want to decide that now,” El says.

Josie nods, ponytail slithering against the back of their leather vest. Another button gets pressed. Nothing changes on the screen.

“Would it be suitable for you to receive some design proposals, in perhaps a month’s time?” Josie is carefully, professionally certain that Nanase could say _no_. “Many first time customers are uncertain as to what is possible.”

Nanase, stuck on trying to describe what she might want without knowing all the words or even what’s really possible, nods. Then she says “That sounds like a good idea.”

“Is there anything you particular wish to avoid?” Josie asks. “Leather, the colour pink, potentially ticklish fluff?”

“I can’t think of anything specific,” Nanase says. El nods in agreement. “I can’t say pink leather with fluff sounds attractive.”

“I cannot but agree,” Josie says.

Pat enters the room from the side they didn’t come in by. Pat’s obviously here to collect Nanase and El; there are expressions of appreciation all around.

Back on the sidewalk, headed back toward Le Petite Trianon, El takes Nanase’s hand.

“They’re Uryuoms.” El’s quietly certain.

“They don’t seem to get sexy,” Nanase says. “Maybe not the vicinity.”

“We’ve got simple tastes,” El says, grinning.

* * *

A text message should have shown up at least an hour ago. Ellen is not naturally a worrier. Past noon, it’s getting hard to avoid concern.

That it’s an email from Nanase doesn’t immediately reduce worry.

Halfway down, Ellen starts to laugh.

Nanase gets a text; Ashley gets a text.

_Elliot texted_ , comes back from Ashley.

_You can call her_ , Ellen sends back. Ashley has an intermittent of being clingy. It doesn’t apply in person, or the tactile delight overrides it or something, but the possibility of Ashley desperately wanting to call Elliot and not doing it exists. It would be intruding, or being needlessly needy, or something.

_How’re you?_ goes to Nanase.

_My mother told me she had insisted on me taking that car_ , Nanase says. _First thing._

_Reasonableness!_ , Ellen sends, then _I like that_.

_Don’t like Mother’s plan?_ It would make a lot of things easier. Nanase notices that, and gets angry with herself for noticing it.

_The situation, not the plan._ Ellen thumbs quickly at her phone. _You get time off your mother can’t disapprove._

There’s a pause. Ellen and Nanase are each thinking that they’re not certain Mrs. Kitsune isn’t somehow responsible for the family car deciding not to work. Neither of them wants to say it.

_Last night was like you and variety_ , Nanase says. _I was thinking once, closure, and now it’s three or four days._

Nanase had tried the car’s locking fob, coming back from Mode de la Reine; nothing. They had a long drive ahead of them and needed to pack the car back up and get on the road. An hour of assistance hotlines and patience revealed that the car’s entire electronic system had quietly died. Nothing could be opened.

Nanase had called her mother; there had been several minutes of Japanese. Nanase had gone into Le Petit Trianon and asked for a contact number. An hour later, the car was gone, collected by a flatbed tow truck and taken to the local dealer for warranty service. The Kitsune’s car insurance covers a replacement rental, which is going to the Kitsune household, and stranding costs; those cover staying in the hotel you were already in, at least if Mrs. Kitsune is speaking to the adjuster. Le Petit Trianon offers a week-long spa package; it’s less expensive than five regular days. The car dealer will make no promises; they haven’t even got the hood open yet. The insurance adjuster paid for the week.

Nanase had said a formal and heartfelt thanks to her mother.

“It is good that you thought about the replacement vehicle going to the location of the report,” Mrs. Kitsune had said, or almost; not all of the nuance of the Japanese will translate. Unwound through its choice of formality, it’s outright praise. Nanase grins a bit thinking about it.

_We didn’t have specific plans for this week_ Ellen sends. _You’re not going to have more feels for Elliot than you already did_.

There’s pause, with Ellen typing carefully. _I’m going to have more feels for Ashley, but not any stupid feels._

_Feels OK_ , Nanase sends. _Some stupid OK._

There’s a short gap.

_I want to have sex with you and El at the same time SO MUCH_ , Nanase sends. _At least that much stupid._

_That’s not stupid, that’s a twin fetish_ Ellen sends. _And I’m glad you said it._

_You’re amazing._ Nanase.

_We’re both lucky._

Ellen has a moment of decision; the next message goes to Elliot.

_Ashley loves being a puddle._

Nothing comes back; if Elliot’s talking to Ashley, that’s expected.

* * *

“Ellen transformed me and I wasn’t anxious at all,” Ashley says. “I’m still not anxious so I am going to say a bunch of stuff and I might die when the anxiety comes back.”

“OK,” El says. El does a better warm welcoming voice than Elliot does. Elliot can do the same purring tone but it’s not reassuring from a man.

Ashley’s inhale is audible over the phone. “You’re lovely and kind and gentle and I want that but I mostly want it in public. I want you to turn me into what you want to fuck, and fuck me, and tell me I’m you’re favourite sex toy, and not worry about if I am going to like it because I _will_ like it, I can’t help liking it, I’m terrified of people finding out because having most people find out would be completely bad and that’s a lot of the anxiety and I don’t know if double FV5 or just having Ellen go `oh, that’s what really makes you come’ and making me come until I couldn’t think and then cuddling me while I recovered was what got rid of the anxiety, but I want that.”

“Consent has to be continuous,” El says, very seriously. “Can we get a safeword?”

“Skim milk,” Ashley says. “I want your cock down my throat and your hands on my tits and you to take it real slow rocking in and out using me to make yourself come,” Ashley says, voice intent and very serious, “because now I know there are forms where I can breathe through my ears and just lose myself in being what turns you on the most. I don’t have to be what turns you on the most every second, but I want to always be tied for first. I think I need you to not worry about the safeword every second to believe I’m what turns you on the most.”

El says something like “Urf.” Ashley waits. It’s only about ten seconds but it feels like forever.

“You want me to get a wand or something from Tedd and just zap you without asking,” Elliot says.

“Into what you want to fuck right then,” Ashley says. “Even if it’s a pokemon.”

El giggles helplessly. “No pokemon. I think I can do that without dying of awkward or killing Tedd with awkward,” she says.

“Or unresolved tension,” Ashley says.

“Or unresolved tension,” El aggress. “But I don’t think I can do that all the time.”

“I need it, I don’t actually care if it’s addictive because getting rid of the anxiety would be worth addictive,” Ashley says, “but I don’t want it _instead_ of the cuddles and the gentleness and the smooching. I want cuddles and gentleness and smooching, I want _more_ cuddles and gentleness and smooching _and_ this.”

There’s a pause, while El isn’t sure if Ashley’s finished. Ashley isn’t sure, either.

“I know that’s greedy,” comes out in a quiet voice. “Wanting a day or a weekend where you and Ellen just pass me back and forth, taking turns, is extremely greedy.”

“Getting what you need isn’t greedy,” El says, quiet and serious.

“This is scary,” Ashley says, voice losing a lot of feeling. “I want boy-you to wear stockings and nothing. I want a strap-on that’s as much as Pink can take and to practice until we’re sure, that’s it, put a condom on it and it’s too big. I want you in an absolutely amazonian girl form that’s just for me and to go out in public with you and be sappy. I want you to figure out what double FV5’d look you find hottest on me and when we get working contraception I want you to fuck me outside. I want to be able to ask Nanase what you like, and to tell you exactly what Ellen or Nanase or anybody did to me and why I liked it.”

“I don’t know where to get stockings in Elliot’s size,” El says. “There’s some lead time on that one.” Ashley can feel the smile in El’s voice. “The Pink one, too, and I don’t know if you know capacity’s adjustable and I think you mean all the possibilities.”

“Acceptable, acceptable, I didn’t, and I did,” Ashley says. “What do _you_ want?”

“To be skilled,” El says. “I never felt like I wanted anything much because you’re supposed to want things and I don’t, much. I do want to be skilled.”

“Examples?”

“Being lovers means having this conversation. Being skilled means having this conversation with no awkwardness.” El makes a soft little noise. “Maybe not there yet. Practice will improve it.”

“So you don’t care what kind of sex we have?”

“I care that it’s fun, that it’s something you’re enthusiastic about, that everybody’s happy after, that it doesn’t leave you unsatisfied, that I can feel like I wasn’t incompetent.”

“If I want to peg you?” Ashley’s voice is only just audible.

“Warning and lube,” Elliot says. “I have a relationship of convenience with gender. Guys are hot, girls are hot, you specifically are hot, I want you to be happy. I’m not trying to be manly.” El giggles a little, looking down.

“I don’t think I want to,” Ashley says. “Not wanting things in general is hard to understand.”

“I want to see you make that face where you stop worrying if you’re coming too hard,” El says. “I want people to feel safe. I really want you to feel safe.” El sort of wiggles, sitting on the medium hassock in the hotel room. “You know what happens when you feel like you deserve having your feet rubbed? I want to get the whole relationship some place like that.”

“Liz was right,” Ashley says.

“Za?”

“You have an altruism fetish.”

“Uh, maybe? I’m not sure it’s a _fetish_ ,” El says.

“Liz is afraid you get turned on about me doing good things,” Ashley says. “That it doesn’t really matter that it’s me, that you’ve got the hots for a story in your brain.”

“Hard to say something about that,” El says.

“You really like me,” Ashley says. “Liz got that part wrong. Pretty sure being good turns you on.”

“Uh, maybe?” El’s flustered. “Never thought of it like that.”

“Is asking you to transform me pushing too hard?”

“No. It’s going to take practice.”

“Too much for Tedd?”

“I don’t think so,” El says slowly. “It’s really important you don’t, I don’t, push Tedd. Tedd has to ask Grace first. As long as nobody actually pushes and Tedd doesn’t panic, I think Tedd will.”

“Panic?”

“Tedd expects bullying for doing gender presentation wrong,” El says. “All kinds of parental doubt and worry, too, and that’s not resolved. Wanting to smooch Elliot is like giving the bullies permission to hit him.”

“Oh,” Ashley says. “That’s awful but I understand it.”

There’s a small silence.

“Is the way I want to be transformed comprehensible?” Ashley sounds uncertain. “I’m all of a sudden not sure you do lust.”

“If you’re a male magical martial artist and could easily make people do things, responsible lust means not having any,” El says. “Transformation and gender indifference means I can have sex and not get anyone pregnant, so maybe responsible. Only I don’t really know how to have desire for other people.”

“Are you sure you want to be having sex?”

“I like it,” El says. “It’s making me happy. I don’t know what I’m doing or if I want something specific with other people. I like being hot, I like causing responses. I get horny really easily. The general hormonal haze means it’s easy to find something to enjoy, you make me happy, the idea that I can make you feel good makes me happy, it’s too simple to be this complicated.”

“Learning things from Nanase?” Ashley’s voice has filled with a smile.

“Yeah,” El says. “I don’t know if any of them will be any use to us, but I’m learning.”

“It’s kinda the same with Ellen,” Ashley says. “I really didn’t have much experience.”

“Are we allowed to stop pretending we know what we’re doing?” El tries not to sound half as terrified as they feel.

“Deal,” Ashley says. “I’ll tell you what I want, and you’ll tell me what you want, and we’ll figure out the overlap and we won’t ever kinkshame or mention normal.”

“Deal.”


	5. Stranded

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The car really won't start. So it's going to be a much longer trip than planned.
> 
> Tedd and Grace make an appearance.

### Monday Afternoon

“Dad’s glad I have someone else to talk to,” Ashley says, “and Mom figures that if Nanase is going to steal Elliot for a week I totally get to steal Ellen.”

“Really?” Grace is completely astonished.

Grace has been polite and put on a large artist’s smock-shirt. It isn’t laced up so it dips very low and it’s not all that long, but it’s something. Tedd ushered them into the Verres basement in sweat pants and a lab coat.

“I think Mom was a pirate in a past life,” Ashley says. “Rules instead of morals.”

“Not a bad approach to magic,” Tedd says, and straightens his glasses.

“So if I’ve got this right, you want to know if staying transformed is risky, specifically with Ellen’s beam forms.”

Ashley nods.

“Forms can become permanent now, but you have to stay in them for like a month and not try to resist the enchantment,” Tedd says. “You’re not a strong wizard but just being a wizard at all is going to make a passive enchantment go away if you want it to go away.”

“Passive?” Ashley says.

“It’s happened and it’s just there. You don’t have enough magic to keep Ellen from transforming you but once you’re transformed the form doesn’t have any extra magic being added to it. It’ll go away if you want to resist it.”

Somewhere around “keep Ellen from transforming you” Ashley has a fleeting expression of complete delight. It doesn’t last long; Tedd doesn’t see it. Grace quirks an eyebrow at Ellen, who nods once and wiggles a little.

“So no getting stuck.” Ashley is making absolutely sure.

“No getting stuck and if you _do_ get stuck”—Tedd waves at the desk with the TF gun equipment—“I’ve got your default form on file. And there’s a dispel-spell available.”

“About default forms,” Ashley says, and stops, turning a little pink.

Tedd raises both eyebrows but waits.

“Can you make little changes? FV5 does that thing with separating the airway from your esophagus.”

Ashley is well into red now.

“Is this a capacity issue?” Grace’s voice has never even heard of judgement or disapproval.

Ashley nods, rapidly, three times.

Tedd pulls out their phone, thumb types.

There’s a brief wait. Tedd turns decidedly pink. Types something quickly, and puts his phone away.

“Elliot says it’s fine to reference the file copy of his default form,” Tedd says. Tedd’s not getting less pink.

“What’d Elliot _say_?” Ellen doesn’t think it’s difficult to make Tedd blush. It’s not as easy to make Tedd keep blushing.

“They’re out shopping. Asked if it was a cute hat.”

“Can we see?” Grace uses an exaggeratedly wheedling voice and an extremely hopeful expression.

“You won’t unsee it,” Tedd says, handing Grace his phone.

El is wearing sneakers, over-the-knee socks, and a hat. The hat is a wide-brimmed swoopy sun-hat in a pale cream colour; it’s got a blue ribbon for a hat band that trails off the brim. El’s supposedly facing away but has both hands on the brim of the hat and is turned backward so you can see her face in the frame of her arms. You can definitely see nipple.

“Oh wow” Grace says. Grace isn’t concerned about nudity; El’s facial expression would melt glass. It doesn’t qualify as “come hither”; it’s more an implied promise of eventual erotic exhaustive collapse.

Grace hands the phone to Ashley. Ellen takes a look over Ashley’s shoulder, and makes a face of judicious approval. Ashley was still visibly blushing and is now trying for incandescent.

“Jealousy?” Grace really isn’t sure.

“Arousal,” Ashley says, in as neutral a voice as she can manage.

Grace makes a squee noise, steps closer to Ashley with her arms raised, stops. Ashley looks up, leans out to pass his phone back to Tedd, and then steps into the hug.

“Thanks,” Ashley says, stepping back from Grace. It did help.

Ashley looks at Tedd. “Can El get stuck? It was supposed to be about thirty hours, and it’s going to be at least three days now.”

“Elliot has a general transformation ability,” Tedd says. “It’s restricted to human forms, it’s technically a spell, but basically Elliot can turn into anything human.”

“Human?” Ellen pays attention to Tedd’s spell descriptions.

“I’m pretty sure if Elliot wanted to change a male form around it’d work,” Tedd says to Ellen.

Tedd turns to face Ashley “It’s not impossible for Elliot to get stuck in a form but somebody’d have to do it and it’d be more work than doing it to most people. Being this particular form for a week might make it memorable, one of the doesn’t-have-to-think-about it forms like Pink or the default matches-Ellen form that Elliot makes blonde so we can tell Elliot and Ellen apart.”

“But not stuck,” Ashley says.

“But not stuck,” Tedd says.

Tedd looks away. “Anything else you want to put on the default form?”

“Anxiety?” Ashley makes a generalized waving motion. “I don’t think you necessarily can, but that’d be really nice.”

“What form gets rid of anxiety?”

“Double FV5,” Ellen says. Ellen isn’t smirking. Ellen isn’t smug. You can really easily tell that Ellen isn’t smug or smirking because if you laugh at Ashley, Ellen might just kill you stone cold dead.

Ashley, who had been back to her normal colour, blushes a little and sort of falls into Ellen, who puts an arm around her.

Grace makes a melt-from-cute face, and half the accompanying body motion. Grace is smiling enormously enough that Ellen’s a little surprised there’s no audible squee.

“Um,” Tedd says. “I shouldn’t transform you into someone isn’t anxious as a condition of the transformation. That has ethics problems. I think”—Tedd dives into his workstation chair and starts doing something with the computer—“I can set it up so you get transformed into a calm state, though. It won’t keep you from getting anxious but you won’t be anxious right then.”

“Oh thank you!” Ashley says. “That’d be really helpful.”

“Just don’t transform continuously,” Tedd says. “Three times in an hour, tops.”

“Or?” Ashley sounds concerned.

“It’s a transformation to set your default form,” Tedd says. “It’s not meant to wear off. So if you set it too much it makes it harder to transform to anything else, you’ll get generalized transformation resistance.”

“Don’t want that,” Ashley says in a definite voice.

“So it’ll be helpful but not therapeutic,” Tedd says, face a little apologetic.

“Therapeutics’s not a reasonable expectation,” Ashley says with firm cheer.

“Any of the grooming bits of FV5?” Tedd says, looking a little past Ashley.

“Grooming bits?”

“I shaved my legs once,” Tedd says. “And then I started building not needing to do that into the transforms.”

“Oh,” Ashley says, and looks slantwise at Ellen.

“Why shouldn’t you?” Ellen has no doubts about this. “Easy way to walk around transformed all the time.”

“Yes please,” Ashley says to Tedd. “All of the grooming bits.”

“Want a disguise?” Ellen says to Ashley. “Beam transforms stack.”

“Anonymous cosplay, anonymous public smooches,” Grace says in an encouraging tone.

“Anonymous exhibitionism” is Tedd, sounding indulgent and smiling at Grace, who nods and looks enthusiastic.

“Anonymous isn’t safe,” Ashley says, quietly, and then stops. “You don’t mean me by myself.”

“Nope,” Ellen says.

Ashley turns her face into Ellen’s neck. Ellen turns to hold Ashley firmly; Ashley never quite loses her composure.

“I’m not used to this,” Ashley says.

“Reliable friends?” Tedd’s confused, and you can tell.

“This isn’t friends,” Ashley says. “I mean, you are, you’re all Elliot’s friends, I get included, I’m starting to get included for me, but that wasn’t _let’s go hang out_ , that’s _if someone tries to attack you we’ll fight them_.”

“Isn’t that what friends do?” Grace sounds a bit confused, too.

“You think you’ll win.” Ashley doesn’t know how to explain this and doesn’t want to let go of Ellen any more than she has.

“Have so far,” Ellen says. “And I get it, it wasn’t like this in my other life.”

“I try not to think about, I don’t _want_ to think about it,” Ashley says, “but” and Ashley stops. “I don’t think anybody wants to deal with a vampire, but you know about vampires and you know you might need to do it.”

“If we can,” Tedd says. “I’m not any better at fighting than you are.”

Grace makes a noise. It’s not precisely a growl, but it’s met one. Tedd gets hugged, and leans back into it.

“So, anonymous form?” Tedd says it up at the ceiling, not to Ashley. It’s Tedd’s best carefully not interested voice.

Ashley lets go of Ellen, stands up straight. “Can we do a generic overbuilt elf? Enough barefoot height to put my nipples at Ellen’s mouth height?”

Ellen makes a _spluck_ noise, and grins; Grace looks approving. Tedd says “Sure.” He goes and sits in front of the computer for a bit, gets up, waves Ashley over. “It’s not really high-res but you can adjust all the sliders.”

Ashley does that; Ashley gets the proportions settled, and goes on to the face screen. Ashley has questions; Grace crouches down beside the chair and answers them.

Tedd’s gone to get a transformation gun, and plugged it in to the computer, and tip-toed away from the discussion about face shape to stand beside Ellen, who makes a “want a hug?” spread arm motion at him.

Ted does. Tedd gets less tense.

“All ready!” is Grace looking up, and smiling enough to wiggle a little.

Tedd lets go, and gets the transformation gun, and checks various settings. Notably, that the whole new transformation has been loaded.

Tedd hands the transformation gun to Ellen. “That OK?”

Ashley nods vigorously. Grace gets Ashley standing in the correct spot.

“Just the trigger?” Ellen thinks this is a new model of transformation gun.

“Point first,” Tedd says. “Then the blue switch, then the trigger.”

There’s a click, then the green beam and the abrupt hum.

Grace puts a gentle hand over Tedd’s mouth. If Ashley orgasms from transformation, now isn’t the time to ask if that’s really what that was.

“That’s memorable,” Tedd says, after Grace’s hand moves.

The form is.

“It can’t possibly be me,” Ashley says, gleeful voice noticeably deeper. “Ooh, I bet I can _husk_ ” Ashley says, and says “Hey cutie” to Ellen in sultry tones. Ashley’s first try is husky enough to haul a dogsled.

Ellen carefully hands the TF gun back to Tedd, eyes never leaving Ashley.

“People will eventually find out about what magic does,” Ellen says.

“Then I could be anybody. I could be Rupert Grint. Before that, this can’t possibly be Ashley.”

Ashley does a pirouette, realizes that a handstand is not a good idea with the current ratio between her height and that of the basement ceiling, goes through a few ballet poses, and crouches to get a good look a her transformed face in the full length mirror

“Hug check?” sounds a little doubtful as Ashley stands, but Ellen comes straight over and glomps.

Ashley glomps back, shivers a little, and looks happier.

“Little more hips, little taller?” Ashley asks.

Tedd nods. “Not a problem.”

Tweaks gets made.

“If you keep the strength setting there you’ll eat a lot,” Tedd says.

“I want to be able to pick Ellen up and twirl her,” Ashley says.

Ellen says “Aw.”

“And you just won’t be able to buy pants,” Tedd says.

“I like leggy,” Ashley says. “And I like skirts.”

Tedd and Ellen get similar blank expressions. Tedd shakes it off, enters a few quick commands, and hands the TF gun to Grace, who checks it.

Ashley goes back and stands on the transformation target. Ellen does the zap again; Ashley gets a little taller, all in the leg, and a little hippier. This glomp seems to work perfectly; Ellen doesn’t show much sign of wanting to move, and Ashley pets Ellen’s hair.

“Should I put this one in the device?” Tedd sounds a little indulgent; Tedd’s politely not looking at Ellen and Ashley.

“Yes please,” Ashley says. It does still sound like Ashley’s speaking, despite a deeper register and more resonance.

Tedd gets a particular high-tech glove out; Grace drifts over to the Ashley-Ellen hug and gets included. Tedd keeps working. It doesn’t take all that long; the hug shows no sign of coming apart on its own.

“Much as I hate to disturb this,” Tedd says, grinning, and hands Ashley a fidget spinner.

Ashley looks a little surprised.

“Fidget spinners are really cheap right now,” Tedd says. “Even these.” This particular spinner is all aluminium and has real bearings for the spinning part.

“You have to put your thumb on one of the outer weight lobe thingies; it’s a functional fidget spinner if you’re holding it by the middle. If you put your thumb on a weight and you think _ethereal gazpacho_ , you get one of three effects. The lobe with the equals sign puts you back to your scanned default form, the plus sign puts you back to your requested improved default form, and the question mark puts you in this form.”

“Default-default?” Ashley isn’t sure why she’d want to.

“Doctors appointments, dentist visit, anything like that,” Tedd says. “I think everybody should get the improved sinus drainage and the no choking hazard, but right now if someone X-rayed you there’d be questions.”

“Time to try?” Grace will let go, it’s a concession, but it can be done. Grace and Ellen stay hugging each other, side on, arms around each other’s waists.

Ashley runs twice through all three forms with the spinner. Tedd maintains a complete poker face at Ashley’s expressions.

Ashley, in improved-default form, turns to kiss Ellen on the mouth. It’s done with lots of implication but short of a full smooch.

“Thank you,” is entirely sincere and heartfelt and directed to Ellen. Ashley makes an exercise of will to ignore Grace’s entirely hopeful expression, does an incomplete job of letting go of Ellen, turns to look at Tedd, looks sideways at Grace, back to Tedd.

“Thank you. It doesn’t feel fair to just ask you to,” Ashley sort of waves at the computer desk and the transformation target and the transformation gun, “magic me for free.”

“There’s no legal way to sell you magic,” Tedd says. “It’s not precisely secret anymore but it’s not official. I don’t even know what to study so I’ll be an official magician. So thank you for trusting me to know what I’m doing.”

“All these other magicians do,” Ashley says, letting go of Ellen and Grace and taking the three quick long steps to hug Tedd.

“Thank you!” Ashley says, and hugs Tedd again, with a bit more omph. Letting go of Tedd, Ashley walks over and takes Ellen’s hand.

“No smooching Tedd?” Grace is mostly joking.

“No smooching Tedd,” Ashley says.

“No smooching Tedd,” is Tedd doing his best to sound mock-desolate.

“You’d have to ask Grace first,” Ashley says, “you’d have to ask me about asking at least Elliot first, and I’d have to ask Elliot first.”

“You’re serious.” Tedd’s blinking.

“Elliot and I decided we had no idea what we were doing, so we couldn’t pretend. Say what you mean, no kink-shaming, no comparing to normal.” Ashley inhales. “I think that means no joking about sex.”

Goodbyes get said with hugs in them. Ellen and Ashley head out into the warm afternoon.

Tedd looks at Grace. “Forty-two inch inseam.”

“Didn’t expect Ashley to want to be six seven,” Grace says. “Or that leggy.”

Tedd makes a soundless series of mouth movements, finally setting on nope. “I would try any game where the elves looked like that.”

Hips, and just more shoulders than hips; muscle definition everywhere but hips and ass and breasts and the smooth ageless face. Lots of magic bra; lots of need for magic bra. It damps out nearly all the bounce but there’s a horizontal sway. Breast shape with lots of jut and lots of nipple. Tedd’s spent a lot of time designing breasts for specific transformations and is impressed for more reasons than hormonal foment.

Orange hair, the colour of a ripe orange on the tree in sunlight. Orange eyebrows the same shade. It’s healthy smooth hair that’s obviously never been dyed. Blue eyes, but navy blue. Medium-dark brown skin, even and smooth and obvious. Especially obvious where the pointed ears are in front of the hair; that combination of shades doesn’t occur in nature and should look fake. Somehow it doesn’t.

“I thought Ashley did a really good job with her ears,” Grace says. It is all sliders; the program is there. Making the choice of what to pick was Ashley, and pointed ears, especially more toward the Vulcan end than the Zelda end, don’t necessarily look right. With the full-lipped, strong-nosed, triangular face Ashley chose the selected ear proportions work. Something about the relative angle of the ears and the strong cheekbones works. Even the motility works; the ears move, and all the way through perking up or swinging forward or both, the aesthetics hold.

“Want me to look like that?” Grace isn’t at all sure.

“Not tonight,” Tedd says. “Might just be the contrast? I’m not used to not knowing what I’m into.”

“Serious cuddles so you can think about asking?” Grace says like she’s taking a risk.

“Yes please,” Tedd says. “That’ll help.”

* * *

“That one brings out your eyes.”

El smiles. Nanase smiles back.

They went clothes shopping; they’d packed for overnight and the chance of getting something spilled on them at breakfast. Past the middle of June, whatever swimsuits remain are cheap. El found some string bikinis on for half price, and got four. They’d been fifteen dollars each, regular price. Nanase had tried to think of a joke about the price per area and couldn’t stop imagining El actually in one of the bikinis. They’re micro sized; there’s one layer of thin fabric. The claimed on-size-fits-most range is achieved through very long strings. Nanase wants to twist the strings around her fingers and untie them very slowly. An awareness that El would look happy and move closer to her if Nanase did that makes the thought wretchedly difficult to pry out of her mind.

This store is two stores down from the swimsuit store in the same little mall; it has sundresses on sale. The dress front is almost an apron, except the whole front is split up from the waist into two strips of cloth that tie behind your neck. The back of the skirt ties on separately. It’s extremely adjustable, and on El just about knee length.

The dress is light, too, and twirls when El does, hem spiralling up past the top of El’s high socks. This dress is blue. El checks; the red one and the green one and the other blue one El’s pulled off the rack have the same dimensions.

“No pockets”, Nanase says. Nanase feels obligated to say something cautioning, because the expanse of naked back and the way El’s braid sweeps over the upper curve of her ass before settling and the implication of “slit to the waist” and “three things to untie” have taken a grip on Nanase’s imagination and started to gnaw.

“They’re cheap, I’ve got the bag,” El says, nudging it with a sneakered foot. The dress she was trying on is off. Nanase is startled to note the tiny green almost-thong is off, too; El’s putting on a sunhat.

Somewhere in El’s shoulder bag, her phone pings. El fishes it out, bending from the hips in a way that makes Nanase stop thinking. El hands Nanase El’s phone, and says “Try a picture?”

El faces away with one leg behind the other in nothing but the high socks and the hat. El puts her hands on the brim of the hat and turns from the waist, raised arms framing her face. Nanase, across the large change room, taps the shutter button without much thought. El’s expression doesn’t benefit Nanase’s ability to think.

El grins, takes her phone back, kisses Nanase. It lingers on the edge of outright smooching for a few seconds, then El draws back. There’s a quick burst of phone typing.

Nanase quirks an eyebrow.

“Tedd wanted to know if it was OK to reference Elliot’s default form,” El says.

“You sent Tedd that picture?”

El nods, smiling. “Want to take a few from the front?”

Nanase growls, grabs El by the back of her head and one smooth hip and kisses her with jaw-loosening intensity.

Then takes several pictures, from the front and various elevations.

El leaves the shop in the blue dress and the hat and still with the long socks and the sneakers. Nanase struggles to avoid noticing she shouldn’t like what it looks like, at all, but put El in it and it’s memorably lovely.

* * *

“Hi Mom!”

“Oh, no, no, it was a lingerie fitting. Nanase wants to surprise me, and Elliot went as my body double. They’re stuck at a really nice hotel because of car trouble.”

“Nanase probably sounded happy.”

“I’m not worried. Ashley doesn’t look worried.”

“Ashley’s head is in my lap and I think she was asleep until I started talking.”

Ashley has woken up enough to seize Ellen’s left hand and clutch it to her bosom. Ellen wiggles a little; Ashley has rolled fully on to her back and has Ellen’s hand’s under the collar of Ashley’s shirt, flat on the skin below her collarbones.

“We’re not trading, I think it’s expanding.”

“Nanase and Elliot get to be jocks together, Elliot and Ashley think the same way, Nanase and I think in complimentary ways, Nanase and Ashley probably works, Ashley and me works on just enough mwahaha to make Ashley feel a little bit ravished.”

“I don’t think Elliot does ravished,” Ellen says. “Elliot’s anxiety solvent.”

“You, too,” Ashley mumbles, rolling forward so her cheek’s on Ellen’s thigh and pulling Ellen’s hand lower into a two-arm squeeze. Ellen smiles down at Ashley and tries to pull Ashley closer with her trapped hand. It doesn’t work, but Ashley clearly approves of the attempt and nuzzles firmly into Ellen’s leg.

“My romantic options consist of the people my age with magic who are allowed to know I’m a magical duplicate with no paper trail,” Ellen says. “I agree with Elliot about Sarah, Justin is completely androsexual, and Tedd’s an emotional sucking chest wound Grace is trying to patch. Susan’s Super-Elite Hard Mode. I want this to work, it’s not an experiment or a trial or a starter relationship.”

Ellen inhales; Ellen’s shoulders lower. “Sorry. It’s frightening when it’s going this well. We don’t know what we’re doing, we know we don’t know, if we distribute the learning experiences a bit maybe it will work better.”

“We discussed it. Everybody insisted it was optional. It’s the _don’t know_ part, it’s like trying Brussels sprouts to see if you like them only with heartbreak.”

“It’d help a lot if Mrs. Kitsune would stop acting like Nanase and I can’t possibly have a lasting relationship. It’d help even more if she’d notice Elliot isn’t a boy.”

“You don’t want me to send you the pictures,” Ellen says, suddenly smiling. “El’s doing her best to push all of Nanase’s buttons.”

“It’s not even boy sometimes,” Ellen says. “I don’t get to say about identity, and it’s moving, but Elliot’s decided gender is like socks, you don’t have to wear any and if you do have a gender you pick based on what you’re doing.”

“I’m a girl,” Ellen says.

“No mwahaha with Nanase,” Ellen says. “Lots of other things with Nanase. I’m pretty sure we could be entirely monogamous but it’s difficult.”

“Remember those griffins? They kept wanting to call Nanase _princess_. It’s too true to joke about.”

“Tiring is not the point. Nanase is way happier when she’s not throttled; that’s why Anime Martial Arts was so much fun, no need to hold back so much. A social group where Nanase can be the queen and there’s enough of the rest of us to soak up all the will and glory works better.”

“I don’t know what Mrs. Kitsune thought was going on. I do know that whatever she thought she was getting that’s not what Nanase actually is.”

“No, no, I don’t want all of Nanase. I want the Ellen-sized part of Nanase. Co-dependency bad.”

“Someone who doesn’t get all weirded out that Elliot will rub my feet,” Ellen says. “Someone who almost got killed protecting me.”

“I will totally hug Ashley.”

“Love you, Mom.”

Ashley goes from being curled up with the side of her head on Ellen’s thigh to being just as curled up on Ellen’s lap, side of her face into Ellen’s shoulder. “Squish, please,” Ashley says.

Ellen’s stronger than she ought to be, and is careful with it. It takes five slow seconds of Ellen’s arms around Ashley and steadily increasing pressure before Ashley nods and says “There.”

“Mrs. Kitsune called my mom,” Ellen says, “to explain that she might have to apologize to my mom for not forbidding the whole lingerie fitting expedition, now that unexpected circumstances have Nanase and Elliot are stuck together in private for a week. Apparently she didn’t actually say _bringing disorder to your household_ but implied it.”

“I don’t get it,” Ashley says, small-voiced.

“I don’t either. There’s…” and Ellen makes the ongoing squish slightly firmer. “Mrs. Kitsune has said some things that imply she might think that breaking up with Elliot was all Nanase’s fault, that if Nanase wants someone the someone won’t really have a choice.”

“That could be real,” Ashley says, voice just as small.

“It could,” Ellen says. “Only Nanase is stronger than we are, but not that much.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yep,” Ellen says. “I asked Agent Cranium, as an us-girls thing. There’s a lot of ways for magic to have too much mwahaha, but we’re not doing any of those. Tedd’s dad likely has regular checks.” Ellen pauses. “I should mention that’s not creepy so much as careful, there are either no rules or horrible Secret Squirrel rules for magic and Mr. Verres has been keeping us in No Rules for years now.”

“So Nanase’s mother thinks getting stuck together will make Elliot hopelessly in love with Nanase, leading to breakups and angst?”

“Yeah,” Ellen says, and applies a little bit of rocking to Ashley.

“They’re going to be a bit giddy for awhile,” Ellen says. “All those unresolved locked away feels.”

Ashley nods. “Do you think El will take pictures?” So far, the pictures have been of El; no Nanase. No hot Nanase, anyway.

“Don’t see why not,” Ellen says.

“Not a complaint about the pictures,” Ashley says, in more like her regular voice.

“Makes me want a better camera,” Ellen says.


	6. Shopping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If they're going to be there for awhile Elliot and Nanase need to go shopping.
> 
> Ashley and Ellen decide they need photographic help, and Susan makes an appearance.

## Later Monday Afternoon

Several stores later, Nanase has bought a couple of sports bras; they fit, they’re high quality, but they’re in an awful purple and yellow colour scheme that Nanase wants to call Imperial Banana. Still, two for one and an excellent base price and they can be for workouts once she’s home. She’s found a skirt, some midriff shirts, a sun shirt, something like cycling shorts with thigh pockets, and actual silk underwear.

El has bought a couple of filmy scarves, big, square, shawl-sized ones, in opaque prints, and one completely translucent gauze one. She’s bought three pairs of plain sheer over-the-knee socks, and one pair of outright stay-up stockings. She’s sought Nanase’s advice on flat strappy summer shoes.

This is much more girly behaviour than Nanase sees from Ellen; Nanase is reasonably sure it’s not more girly than Ellen knows how to be, but it’s certainly more girly than Ellen acts. It’s been interspersed with hand holding, kisses on the neck, and smiles; the whole thing has been efficient and enthusiastic.

El bought sunscreen, too, and had Nanase apply it to her back and shoulders, standing there holding her looped-up braid on top of her head.

“Back”, in the blue tie-on sundress, means neck and sides; _sides_ means a wide full curve of side boob. El started relaxed and become progressively more so as Nanase’s hands moved over her. Turning around and smiling and saying “cleavage?” with bright eyes and hopeful tones was too much for Nanase.

“Are you being a tease?”

“After last night?” El inhales and pulls her shoulders back while looking Nanase in the eyes. “Tease implies you don’t get to ravish me.”

Nanase growls, slathers El’s cleavage, stops, and does a thorough gentle job, especially collarbones and the base of El’s throat. El tips her chin up and something in Nanase makes a faint awkward thud.

Nanase has always been a redhead; Nanase is wearing a short leather skirt and a long-sleeved froth of a pirate shirt over the kind of sports bra that will do for outerwear. Nanase’s legs and face and neck and hands have sunscreen on already. Nanase takes one of El’s bare arms and runs sunscreen down it, too, smooth and gentle and gently, bone-rolling thorough over El’s hand, and then the other arm.

It’s not an especially dry sunscreen; El’s skin glistens. El’s muscles show more. The long braid comes down and the wide hat goes back on and El leans in, eyes closing, for a kiss.

Nanase wants to be abrupt; Nanase wants to throw El over her shoulder and run back to the hotel, it’s not that far. Maybe fly. What Nanase does is kiss El delicately, nearly chastely, because that awkward internal thud has happened again.

El picks up her shoulder bag and the one with her part of the accumulated clothes shopping in her right hand, then takes Nanase’s right hand in her left. It would be taking the woman’s side in a traditional dance. The pair of them start moving down the sidewalk, to the disappointment of a few onlookers.

“We didn’t stop having feels,” El says in a mater-of-fact voice. “We stopped dating and we stopped wondering if we were in love, but we didn’t really change anything.”

“You figured that out and agreed to this trip?” Nanase tries not to sound accusatory.

“Yes,” El says. “You think this is bad?”

El gives Nanase’s hand a little squeeze, and the treacherous internal thud happens again, a little louder this time.

Nanase says nothing for six whole blocks; they’ve reached the end of the main street’s downtown and turned left and then left again, for the last two blocks.

“Feelings should stay put,” Nanase says.

El stops, and when Nanase stops a pace later twirls Nanase in so they’re standing at almost nose-touching distance. There’s some smoosh; it would be leaning-into-the-hug full smoosh if either of them leaned in.

“If I don’t kiss you, will you be disappointed?” El’s voice is only loud enough for the distance between them.

Nanase makes a faint strangled whimper, closes her eyes, and nods. The second time her head comes up into the brim of El’s hat, Nanase feels El’s lips press into hers and the nod stops and then time does.

“Better?”

“I’m not panicking,” Nanase says.

“Want to call Ellen?”

“Tonight,” Nanase says. “If I call every time I feel like this I’ll never stop feeling like this. And”—Nanase steps back far enough to wave randomly—“we’re only sending sexy things. I like that.”

El smiles at Nanase, and it’s not the way that Ellen smiles but it is, too, and Nanase briefly flickers with several colours and rises a foot into the air.

Nanase comes back down on to firm ground. El says “Are the feels fighting?”

Nanase shakes her head. “The feels are not fighting.”

“Twin fetish getting out of hand?” El’s smiling, El’s asking side on and slightly arch in tone.

“You really don’t mind.”

“No minding,” El says. Everything about El’s body language supports the absence of minding. “Wouldn’t have agreed to the double-boob-squish if I did.”

“Is there some place we can sit down?”

Two doors, twenty minutes, and two pizzas later, Nanase has recovered her equilibrium.

“I promise,” Nanase says when they are outside again, “I will think about this. But I’m not going to think about it today.”

“Can we think about practicalities?” El’s voice is gentle.

“Practicalities?”

El points; the store front hasn’t got a window, and it says “For Her” in elegant red copperplate. “Sex toys,” El says.

It reminds Nanase of a bookstore, if bookstores made an effort to smell especially nice and offered you tea. The wood floor and wood shelves and handwritten reviews on index cards are a lot like an old-fashioned independent bookstore.

El has a basket. It’s a wire basket, modern and practical. Nanase thinks it ought to be a trug or at least wicker, to go with how El looks with that braid swinging past the muscles of her back and tries to seize herself in the feelings. This is the same response that leads to wanting to buy Ellen fancy lingerie.

_And a house_ some honest voice says, somewhere in Nanase’s head.

This shelf is more of a cabinet; there are no doors, but no shelves, either. Things are hung on hooks and security-cabled. El’s hefting toys and reading labels; the strap-on harnesses come with a range of numerical sizes for waists and hips and thighs. El hands a harness to Nanase.

“That’s the good one,” Nanase says, blinking at the price tag. It’s likely worth it; the leather’s thick and smells like a visit from the spirit of motorcycle jackets, however long the thing has been out here being a sample. There’s a bag of O-rings attached, to allow for various sizes, and in the cabinet there’s three hangers of different silicone backing pieces, to go behind and below the O-ring attachments. Those are on shorter cables; presumably the store is OK with trying the harness on over your pants, but doesn’t want to encourage assembling anything.

“Any of these look interesting?” El says, indicating the backing pieces.

El’s taking pictures of samples and sending text messages. El’s got a paper list of item numbers. El’s pulled a clear plastic ruler from her shoulder bag, and is including it in some of the photos.

Nanase tries to decide between two different backing pieces; one’s nubbly, and one’s got a low single smooth central ridge.

El’s phone bings; more numbers get written down, and a few more photos get taken with the ruler in front of the toy.

“Asking if I forgot anything,” El says.

Nanase has had time to conclude that there’s no good way to decide between the options, not without trying them. There’s certainly a no-returns policy on used sex toys.

“Everybody gets a harness, toys are specific to who they’re used on?” Nanase is carefully not asking what transformation is involved in Ashley wanting toys large enough to intimidate a horse. Nanase hopes it’s Ashley.

“That’s the idea,” El says.

Nanase heads off to another row, and comes back to put two boxed heavy-duty wand vibrators in the basket. Nanase has the stock numbers for the nubbly attachment and both of the insertable attachments for the vibrators.

El’s eyebrows go up; El also kisses the side of Nanase’s neck with a melting gentleness and a tiny flick of tongue.

Nanase says “Just you wait” in mock-threatening tones.

El brings the basket up to the counter, where she swings it up high enough before setting it down and going into an “I have a list” pose. It was a swaying walk.

The person behind the counter isn’t much older than they are. She’s got an undercut and round glasses and a flannel shirt tied round her waist to reveal something closer to a singlet than a tank top. It all goes with the smitten expression.

Nanase watches as El goes through the list; El’s cheerful, and smiling, and it’s a mobile, active, friendly smile. The clerk is doing her best; there’s a bunch of trips into the back, simply because the clerk can’t carry it in her hands all at once. Nanase has no idea how indulgent she’s looking; the clerk hopefully has no idea how she’s looking at El. El’s doing a lot of cute, but her shoulders are broad and her arms are exceptional and her hands aren’t hesitating at all, sorting the toys into colour-coordinated groups. El looks positively anticipatory about a toy a little taller than stacking a couple of coke cans; the clerk has no idea about Female Variant Five, or magic. The clerk doesn’t know how El’s boobs are that firm or why they’re so large that despite the sundress’ best efforts she’s getting glimpses of side-boob from the front.

Nanase doesn’t smirk, noticing the sweat starting on the clerk’s upper lip, or the little shake in her hands after brushing against one of El’s. An impossibly built blonde with definite and excessive tastes in sex toys can’t be an every day occurrence.

The store has a lot of stock; Nanase is surprised that El’s getting everything on her list. El’s grouping toys by green, blue, and purple, and that’s working, too. _Must have a web business_ , Nanase thinks. Strictly walk-in sex toy shops don’t have this much stock.

The counter’s got three pink toys, one large, one pagoda, like a set of rounded cones smooshed together, and another large that’s looks-stubby-wide. Nanase takes as second to realize those are for Pink, Elliot’s Ashley-specific bedroom form. Pink’s not even quite five feet tall,and the size surprises Nanase. The green-blue-purple toys are in regular and extra-extra-large, the two-coke-cans-and-some size El was looking anticipatory about. There’s a stack-of-super-balls blue toy; there’s a couple of purple toys in horse-intimidating sizes. So Ashley did really want them, it wasn’t curiosity about how big it really was.

None are anatomical; even the basic dildos aren’t simple cylinders, but they’re not made to look like penises.

El makes a gesture with her phone; there’s a little bit of angle dance, to get the clerk out of the picture and make sure everything on the counter is in.

“Checking to see if I forgot anything,” El says, smile brilliant. The clerk’s getting around to realizing that there must be other people with the same sort of tastes in toys as the blonde vision, looks sort of sidelong at Nanase, and notices just how completely indulgent Nanase is looking.

El checks her phone, then the list of numbers; after the clerk takes a quick trip to the back, a substantial green thing, ridged and twisted and variable width, goes with the other green toys on the counter.

Four harnesses, a smooth backing bit, and the selected nubbly and one- and two- insertion backing bits from El’s list manage to take up the rest of the counter; it’s got a glass top, there’s stuff for sale under the glass, but you can’t see any of it right now.

“Are you going to want storage bags for these?” It’s what you say when the customer is buying an insertable toy. The clerk’s remembered that, and is managing to mostly look at El’s bare shoulders and the lines of muscle through her neck.

“Yes please,” El says, cheerful and innocent.

The clerk says “Anything I can help you find?” It’s what she’s supposed to say. It’s a reflex.

“Would it be all right if we look around some more?” gets El a nod.

It’s a surprisingly large store; the front isn’t, but it goes back and becomes wider and then wider again, and it goes back a long way. All the way at the back, there are actual books; there’s another counter there, but no one’s behind it.

Nanase hands El a book titled _Capacity for the Eager_.

“I can’t get that for Sarah,” El says. Thumbing through, it looks like just the thing, but it also looks like it’d be beyond awkward.

“Ellen can get that for Sarah.” Nanase’s quite sure.

“Do we want to start a joint library?” There’s books here that look useful. It doesn’t make a lot of sense to El to get multiple copies.

“Do we have a place to put it?” Nanase will not be taking anything from For Her home.

“Storage tubs? That we quietly take to college with us?”

Nanase nods. There’s an implied “same as the toys” and another implied “in Ellen and Elliot’s room in the meantime” because neither Dunkel parent snoops.

Six books get brought up to the front counter. El sends a text message about buying some opaque tubs to Ellen. The counter itself is clear; everything’s been packed up in a couple of “For Her” reusable tote bags. El says “Still looking” in a winsome way and takes Nanase’s arm.

The opposite-the-counter side of the middle section has approximations of clothes, most obviously meant to be taken off within twenty minutes. None of it looks particularly appealing; El doesn’t have much hope any of it will fit. Nothing with cups has a chance, and her hip-to-waist ratio is implausible.

El drifts down another couple of aisles. El has no interest in floggers or restraints. El has no interest, and Elliot less than no interest, in CBT toys. El picks up some completely plain condoms sized for the various toys, and, reading labels, two large containers of toy-safe lube. The various large pillows and positional furniture are interesting, but there’s no way to get those home or explain them once arrived. “Martial arts equipment” wouldn’t be a convincing explanation.

El isn’t expecting Nanase to come up and say “Should I get Ashley something?”

“I don’t think so,” El says. “I should. Nothing seems obvious.”

“Deely boppers aren’t transformation,” Nanase says. There are some; plain, hearts, one disturbing set with light-up cat ears elevated on long springs.

“Do they do gift cards?” Nanase makes a general sort of wave. “The selection is insane.”

“We can ask.” El and Nanase head up to the counter again and drop off their accumulated selections.

“Speaking of asking,” Nanase says, and hands El a package. It’s somewhere between a longline bra and a corset; the back size ought to fit El, it’s plausibly clothing even if it is all sheer white, and it’s completely cupless; there’s a single monobosom opening with a padded edge. It does have shoulder straps, but those go around to the sides of the monobosom opening. It’d look like a painfully staid bra from the back.

“For under something sheer?” El’s smile at Nanase implies promises would be superfluous.

“I hope so,” Nanase says.

“Are there change rooms?” El hasn’t seen any. You can usually try on bras.

“Straight back down this wall, there’s a door on the left. It’s a bathroom, but we’re not busy right now” the clerk says, pointing.

It takes El a minute to figure the garment out; the back adjusts with elastic laces and the front fastens with hooks, but she can set the laces, wiggle into it, and hook up the front. Successfully dressed, El cracks the door open. Nanase is right there, and no one else seems to be, so El opens the door halfway, puts her arms up, and twirls.

Nanase says “If I touch you, I will ravish you” in a completely serious voice. El grins and closes the door, blowing Nanase a kiss while she’s doing it. El emerges in her blue sundress, bra-like garment in hand.

“You want to get it for Ellen?”

“One for you, one for Ellen.” Nanase is maybe a little abashed. El kisses her cheek.

“I think that’s” is what El says at the counter, before pointing at something under the glass counter top and asking “What are those?”

_Those_ are thick metal rings in various colours. The clerk fishes one of the blue ones out. “They’re cock rings,” the clerk says apologetically. “They’re really light because they’re hollow titanium tubing.” The clerk drops her chosen example into El’s hand. “Kinda spendy.”

It’s blue. It’s not the same blue as the dress or the glints in El’s grey eyes, but it’ll go with either or both.

It’s probably too small. El looks left and right and undoes the dress tie behind her neck. The clerk’s eyes are completely blank by the time El has held the ring up to her right nipple, a process which involves hoisting her right breast to try to get the nipple pointing enough up for El to see its whole circumference. The ring is definitely too small.

“Does the blue one come larger?” gets said in El’s best completely reasonable voice. It gets said with an entirely innocent smile. The clerk pulls out the whole stack of rings, fifteen or sixteen in various colours, and sets them on the counter-top. Not very well; there’s a clatter.

“You might want to sanitize those before you try them on,” the clerk says. “Just fingers but people sneeze on their fingers.” The clerk’s getting redder; she might start babbling. Nanase is looking at El with an entirely fascinated expression. There’s a pump bottle of hand sanitizer right there on the counter-top.

El carefully smears sanitizer all over the next ring; El produces a major shudder and some wiggles attempting to put the ring on, because the lingering sanitizer feels cold. On the third try, El gets a good snug fit from a plain grey ring. It slides all the way back to the areola with some tugging, and it doesn’t want to slide forward on its own, even a bit slick with sanitizer.

“Nipples like drawer pulls,” El says in a self-deprecating tone. “Could you”—looking straight at the clerk—“slide it off for me? I don’t know how snug they’re supposed to be and it feels nice”—El produces a restrained wiggle—“but I want to be sure this is right.”

The clerk glances at Nanase, who nods and looks utterly benign despite wanting to laugh. A cheap disposable plastic glove later, the ring slides off; El gets a little pink up her neck and makes a completely approving expression.

“That’s the expected fit,” the clerk says, dropping the ring on a conical sizer. “You don’t want too tight.”

“Are there two that size in blue?” El is pulling up the two front straps of the dress, but not very quickly, and she leans forward to swing her braid around in front long before the straps are high enough to cover anything.

Two in blue emerge from a small drawer in the cabinet behind the counter and go into a little ziploc bag, larger than the just-large-enough ziploc bags the individual rings are already in.

El takes two tries to get the dress tied, and there some some manual adjustments and a test wiggle.

“Can we put a pair of the green ones, same size, on my little pile?” Nanase has one hand on the two bra-like garment packages and a book. She’s enjoying the clerk’s fluster. The clerk checks the size and puts a green pair in a little ziploc bag. El fishes her phone out and texts Ellen.

A couple of minutes of the clerk and Nanase making small talk later, there’s a reply. The clerk doesn’t do entirely well with regaining her composure because Nanase stretches, a slow, thorough, languid, maybe-I-am-a-cat stretch.

There are rings in sizes that will fit FV5 Ashley and Warrior Elf Ashley, in purple and gold, respectively. Nanase finds herself smirking, because El certainly just asked Ellen to measure Ashley for nipple jewelry, and none of the three of them thought it was weird. It would have all been clear, direct sentences.

Those go into the pile. El arches an eyebrow at Nanase, who nods. El produces a credit card.

“Elliot?” the clerk says, startled.

“Elliot Jane,” El says without hesitation. “It was almost George, Mom’s a fan.”

The clerk grins; the transaction processes. Nanase’s transaction processes, and Nanase gets a small reusable bag, still in black canvas. Nanase’s purchases go into the small bag before it goes into one of the large bags. They both wave to the clerk on their way out.

“How did you afford that?” Nanase manages not to sound accusing.

“I know you meant to get the wands” El says. “You’re getting the hotel. I’m affording it through licensing,” El says, quietly. “I’m putting almost all of it in savings, but there’s” and El stops, a little embarrassed. Elliot had nothing to do with negotiating the toy deal, or the trademarks; that got done by officially humourless lawyers who work for an unspecified part of the government. Cheerleadra got a good deal. As the first superhero known to really exist, the doll has done well. None of the money feels especially real, or deserved.

Nanase says “Oh, duh” and then “Have you gotten into being a tease?” Nanase isn’t sure if she should say _exhibitionist_ instead.

“I can’t sexualize other people,” El says, “my brain won’t do it. But I can be sexy. And it’s fun.”

A little while later, there’s an ice cream truck, and they get a cone each, which means dawdling a little outside. It’s probably fine to bring ice cream into Le Petit Trianon; there’s a shady tree, though, and a bench.

Eventually Nanase says, “If you can’t sexualize other people,” and stops. “Do I seem sexy?”, “Can you get what you want, are you really just doing Ellen a favour?” and “Did you have actual fun?” all try to come out at once, and they all get stuck. It had seemed like El had had actual fun, but now Nanase isn’t sure.

“You make it really obvious when I’m supposed to treat you as sexual,” El says, “and I need that. I loved you then and I love you now and I’m trying not to be smug.”

Nanase takes a deep breath and holds it, waiting for the singing in her ears to fade.

“Was it fun?” Nanase had put a lot of weight on _just like Ellen_ , and now thinks it was too much, far too much.

“You’re into responsiveness,” El says. “You want your lovers to pass out from physical exhaustion because they came so much. If it takes years of practice to build the stamina and remove any inhibitions, that’s work you’re willing to do.”

Nanase blushes, and looks down.

El reaches out, takes Nanase’s chin, tilts her face up, and kisses her.

“It was fun. I liked it a lot.”

* * *

_Can we borrow your pool shower?_

_Me and Ashley._

_Nanase and El are stuck in a spa and have been sending pictures._

_Car trouble._

_More like a smutty niceness contest._

“Susan says _I am intrigued_.” Ellen’s grinning.

_Four PM, thank you._

Ashley’s wrapping herself around Ellen’s left side. Ashley’s knees are coming apart; her already short sleep shirt rides up. “Pussy, please?” comes out breathy and lacking force. Untransformed Ashley is trying to ask for things; Ashley’s anxiety tries to strangle her when she does.

Ellen sets her phone down with her right hand and slides her left up Ashley’s left thigh. Ashley’s legs swing apart and Ashley winds up half-leaning and half-holding on. Two firm fingers of pressure on Ashley’s clit is enough, and Ashley orgasms from the sheer transgressiveness of getting what she asked for.

Ellen doesn’t touch Ashley anywhere else; a busy left hand goes along with half-whispered “Good girl” and “Just like that” and “Excellent fuck doll” and “Come as hard as you can” and various smooth purring noises of enjoyment and approval.

Fifteen minutes later Ashley’s succession of orgasmic incoherent noises turns into a single high sung _Oh, oh, oh_ before an erotically overloaded Ashley slumps boneless against Ellen.

Ellen tips Ashley back a bit into her right arm so Ashley can see Ellen suck her own left fingers clean. Ashley’s suffused, there’s no possible way for Ashley to blush, and being boneless precludes wiggling. “Thank you, Mistress” comes out below conversational volume, but clearly.

Ellen kisses Ashley’s forehead. “You’re welcome.”

_Can Susan have copies of your raunchy pictures_?

_Unless otherwise marked_ comes back from Nanase very quickly.

_If you ask Susan first_ comes back from El, almost as quickly.

“We’re all exhibitionists,” Ellen says.

“Terrified exhibitionist,” Ashley says, and Ellen kisses her gently.

They make it to Susan’s on time; it’s their first joint shower where things don’t become actively sexy.

* * *

Susan lets them in. Susan raises a very Vulcan eyebrow at them.

“Yes I know our hair is wet,” Ellen says. “Wouldn’t dare show up sticky.” It gets said with a grin and kind intent. Susan accepts it as politeness.

“So the idea,” Susan says, “is what exactly?”

“Abstractly or specifically?” Ellen is still grinning.

“We asked first,” Ashley says quickly.

“I trust Ellen about that,” Susan says, “but thank you for saying so.” Susan is leading them to the TV room. Ellen and Ashley take the couch; Susan gets a facing chair, towards the corner with the Review Show’s camera tripod and lights and reflectors.

“Nanase and Elliot went shopping,” Ellen says. “Elliot’s transformed so they can be a dress dummy for Nanase to get something fitted measured for me.”

Susan nods. Susan thinks this is unsurprising conduct for everyone involved.

“There’s been pictures,” Ellen says, “and we”—Ellen’s arm goes around Ashley—“feel like we’re falling behind and you’ve got that big airy well-lit shower and Ashley has a new form and if we set our phones on intervals we’ll get something…soapy.”

“New form?” It’s not at all obvious what Susan’s asking Ashley.

“I’m terrified all the time,” Ashley says, “because I’m weird and weird gets you rejected, and I’m horny all the time so I’m always taking stupid social chances only they never work so it’s paralytic. I’m going to get rejected _forever_. It _really_ never worked when I had no idea what I wanted. Then there’s these people who maybe don’t think I’m weird and I can’t believe it, I’m not sure I’ll ever believe it, but I’ve found out that enough transformation gets rid of the anxiety.”

Ashley inhales. Ellen captures the hand Ashley was twitching closer to Ellen.

“I would do almost anything to get rid of the anxiety,” Ashley says, “and and and” Ashley stops and inhales again, several times. “I hate asking. I hate asking because it feels like no matter who I ask, they won’t really want to, it’s stupid and it’s obviously wrong and none of that matters because asking for anything means they don’t want to, of course they don’t. And I want to, and I want to not be That Girl and I want to not go crazy and” Ashley topples into Ellen.

“And maybe Elliot wanted you and I have no sense and” gets said into Ellen, and then in a very small voice “I’m having panic attacks because suddenly everything is going too well.”

“Would you like something to drink?” Susan’s voice is entirely compassionate.

“Yes please,” Ellen says; Ashley’s had a social function collapse.

“Pushing too hard?” Ellen whispers it to Ashley when Susan has got up and left the room.

Ashley’s head shakes, not very well controlled. Ashley isn’t crying. Ashley is shaking.

Susan hands Ellen a large glass with two straws. Ellen says “Thank you” and takes it. Susan sits down.

“Most of my trauma has been abrupt,” Susan says. “I don’t expect positive outcomes. Telling you, _It will be fine this time, these are good people_ misses the point.” Susan gets an expression that would confuse a machine intelligence. “You aren’t worried about Ellen; you’re worried about you.”

“Yes.” It’s faint and mostly to the couch, but Ashley says it and Susan hears it.

“It would be appalling hypocrisy for me to say you should do what frightens you,” Susan says. “Even if it wasn’t hypocritical, it’s not good advice.”

“I am so sick of being terrified,” Ashley says.

“You’re not too weird to love,” Ellen says, gently.

“I’m sorry,” Ashley says, and accepts several sips from the large glass. It’s probably not the straw Ellen used.

“You decided to be brave for a day and a half,” Ellen says. “Then car trouble.”

“You’re afraid Elliot won’t come back?” Susan doesn’t think that’s likely, but it does seem possible.

“I got brave and it’s working and now I have to be good enough,” Ashley says. “I’m not good enough.”

“The hell you’re not,” Ellen says.

“Elliot,” Susan says, “is too responsible to take most risks. He ignores anything unimportant. I have no idea how anyone does that. It’s made Elliot weirdly naive. That’s not the same as careless.”

“Not making the connection,” Ashley says.

“Elliot’s out-of-character behaviour with you was saying yes,” Susan says. “That was nothing like _too nice to say no_ or _to naive to know better_. Then you meet magic’s worse aspects. You didn’t give up on Elliot over vampires or mind-control. You impressed him.”

“You’ve talked about me.” Ashley’s voice is more nearly silence than sound.

“I asked to be sure Elliot had asked you about the Review Show.” Susan’s voice is calm and even. “He had. You’d expressed unconcern. Elliot didn’t hear how you expressed unconcern as considering me a potential rival and Elliot’s certain preference were I to become available.”

“Probably not,” Ashley says. Ellen’s head is twisted around to look concerned at Ashley.

“I know this doesn’t make sense,” Ashley says. “It’s not how you act, or Elliot, or Ellen.” Ashley moves, sitting up and sliding forward to sit on the edge of the couch.

“Experiences aren’t false,” Susan says. “If it happened to you, it happened to you. Whatever the video would show or what someone else intended.”

Ashley says “Yeah.”

“I have a skilled therapist,” Susan says. “It helps.”

Ellen gets up to high-five Susan; Susan returns it, making her best Vulcan face the whole time.

Ellen sits back down. Ashley’s looking her, startled.

“People have different responses to trauma,” Ellen says in the tones of a confession. “Elliot and I don’t get traumatized. It happens, there are people who have been through really horrible things for years and retain a cheerful outlook. We’re not normal. Nanase isn’t normal.”

“I won’t say normal,” Susan says, “but I do traumatize.” Susan takes a drink from her own glass of water. “Which is one of the reasons I don’t think I am anything like ready to get into a romantic relationship.”

“Maybe I’m not,” Ashley says.

Ellen makes a displeased noise.

“It’s so much fun,” Ashley says, taking Ellen’s hand again. “And I don’t feel weird _during_.” Ashley sighs. “I feel extremely weird, extra weird, on my own afterwards.”

“You’re extra _cute_ , maybe,” Ellen says.

“We are weird,” Susan says. Susan’s holding a sword in the hand that doesn’t have the water glass. The sword goes away again. “It doesn’t have to matter.”

Ashley looks transfixed.

“The bad thing about magic,” Susan says, “is that you suddenly can’t be honest with people who aren’t magical. Even if there were no secrets about magic at all, you can’t explain it. It gives you obligations you can’t explain and you make decisions that make no sense from any non-magical perspective.”

Susan takes a couple swallows of water and sets her face.

“The other thing about magic is that it encourages sexual expression,” Susan says. “I got into an argument with Grace when I called it depravity, and Grace was right; it’s not, it’s a combination of possibility and intensity that makes magic-users some combination of more adventurous and more curious and more able to do what they would like without physical constraints. There’s a feedback with experience and ability, and it’s not properly subject to moral judgement as a thing.”

“Physical constraints?” Ashley can think of many things that could mean.

“I should have a back ache,” Ellen says. “I’ve got a better back. The no-body-hair thing isn’t like being shaved, it’s different skin. I don’t sunburn, I don’t blister, I don’t break out. The separated-airway thing means we’ve both got a syrinx, not a larynx.”

“You can look like you want to look,” Susan says. “The whole problem of liking yourself before being able to have social confidence doesn’t go away, but a lot of it does.”

“If you want to admit it,” Ashley says. “Getting transformed is so much safer.”

“Safer?” Ellen’s suddenly worried.

“If you turned me into it, you must like it,” Ashley says.

Ashley gets abruptly lifted on to Ellen’s lap. Ashley says “Eep!”

“Ashley.” Ellen hardly ever uses an entirely serious tone of voice. This one is completely serious. “Original Ashley is cute. Transformed Ashley is cute. If what turns you on is transforming into Pokemon I will learn where your transformed erogenous zones are. Whether or not you and Elliot stay together, I am saying this about you.”

Ashley says, very quietly into Ellen’s ear, “I like being your toy. I like the way you treat me, I like knowing you can do what you want, I know this isn’t good boundaries. I don’t want good boundaries, I want something the anxiety can’t lie to me about.”

“Admitting things is hard,” Susan says. “I don’t do it well.” Ashley looks across at Susan. “I can’t imagine having sex with someone,” Susan says. “Trying to think about it squicks me. I like to watch. There doesn’t seem to be any obvious way to make that work with good boundaries, either.”

“Nanase and I have a Vulcan plushie and we put it places so the pretend Susan fairy doll has a good view,” Ellen says. “We didn’t know you liked to watch, we wanted some Feminist Gaze for practicing being visibly lesbian. Then we figured out Nanase likes to show off and I like turning people on. I like the idea of turning people on. So we kept doing it when we were doing non-public stuff.”

“I get terrified at the thought of public embarrassment,” Ashley says. “I don’t even know why I got mocked. It’d be worse if there was a reason.”

Ellen’s arms tighten around Ashley.

“Why me?” Susan sounds honestly curious.

“You’re not Justin, who’d say _eww_ , you’re not Sarah, who I’d feel weird about, or Grace, who would hate being left out, or Tedd, who would get Ugly Cousin horrors.” Ellen goes through the list with no change in tone.

“No movie stars?” Ashley sounds tentative.

“That’s pretend with transformation,” Ellen says. “Fun, but not much to it. If I want to believe it enough to get something emotional from it, it needs to be someone who knows about magic and me.”

“Something emotional?” Susan’s not making it sound as casual as Susan would like.

“Elliot and I aren’t the same,” Ellen says, “but we have really similar ideas about attractive.” Ellen grins. “Nanase you have to ask.”

Susan blushes faintly.

“I know how I’m supposed to act around a boyfriend.” Ashley sounds displeased with herself. “Now I don’t have rules.”

“There’s rules,” Ellen says, “Say what you mean, no kink-shaming, no comparing to normal.”

“OK, so now I don’t know what I mean,” Ashley says, suddenly smiling. “Being brave and getting, getting topped a little has turned into having to figure out what I really want.”

“It’s always easier not to,” Susan says. “Introversion and self-doubt and no one telling me trust is a _skill_ not a _thing_. Only that way I won’t like my life all that much.”

“Easier isn’t better,” Ashley says. “My mom says that.” Mostly about anything academic difficult to learn.

“If you want to take pictures in the shower,” Susan says, “would you like me to take them?” Susan didn’t find it an easy question to ask; Susan’s colour is up, and Susan’s not obviously looking at anyone.

“Can we send you some first?” Everything about Ashley makes it clear this is really asking Susan a question. “They’re Nanase and El and they’re hot and some of them are naked or mostly and we’re trying to go at least that hot.”

“Sexy altruism contest,” Susan says.

“Kinda,” Ashley says.

“I would like you to take pictures,” Ellen says to Susan. “Maybe do some directing if you want.”

It takes Ashley a moment to realize she’s being asked, too. “Yes please.”


	7. It's still Monday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's still Monday and there's an outbreak of being thinky

## Monday evening

Nanase and El return to a room housekeeping has been through. The bed has been made neatly. The massage cover over the couch is gone; there’s two clean ones in a neat stack on one of the hassocks. There’s a couple printed squares of card stock and a little booklet on top of the stack.

Clothes shopping goes by their bags; they’ve taken a closet each.

Nanase vanishes through the bathroom toward the towel cabinet. “All fresh towels” drifts back.

El sets the For Her shopping bag with the blue toys in it down in the bathroom. “Left hand sink for laundry, right hand sink for sex toys?”

“Sure,” Nanase says. It’s organic hand wash laundry soap for delicates; there are places you still don’t want to get any of it.

El goes out into the main room and comes back, having hung up her sun hat and stripped off her high socks.

“Help me get the sunscreen off?” El takes both of Nanase’s hands. El looks hopeful.

Nanase’s eyes close. “How much of this is real?”

“I like being a girl,” El says. “I like you.”

“Feelings are stupid,” Nanase says.

“Usually.” El doesn’t see this as a problem.

“Duty doesn’t regard feelings.”

El nods, realizes Nanase’s eyes are still closed, and says “True.”

“If I have feelings for you, I’ll have more feelings for Ellen. I’ll notice Ashley’s large hopeful eyes and want the completely trusting vulnerable hug. I’ll decide there’s a reason to make Diane scream my name.” Nanase has been moving closer to El; nothing as overt as shuffled feet, but they’re not standing as far apart.

El puts her forehead on Nanase’s, delicately.

“I think you’re worried that I’m being nice, somehow, that I don’t mean it.”

“Can’t mean it,” Nanase says.

“Not really a girl or don’t really have feelings?”

“What the _hell_ did you figure out?” Elliot isn’t supposed to be introspective.

“Gender’s how you can get other people to interact without explaining.” El inhales. “If you’re obviously a girl or a boy or a mom or a realtor or a classical musician, everybody knows how to act, they’ve got a script and rules and habits. If they can’t figure out what you are you have to explain and” El shrugs. “Gender is social theatre.”

“Uh, OK.” Nanase leans back.

“I identify with behaviour,” El says, “I don’t identify with gender.”

“That makes sense,” Nanase says slowly. “Tedd identifies with a bunch of genders.”

El nods. “You’re a girl. Core identity, and you think of Elliot as a boy, and here we are.”

Nanase’s eyes close briefly. “Mom’s terrified I’ll do something really low class like start a modelling career.”

“You could,” El says.

“You’re wandering around looking much hotter.” Nanase thinks her statement is factual. It was still meant to be distracting, and while El smiles and goes a little wide-eyed with pleasure at the compliment, it doesn’t work as a distraction at all.

“You want to feel a bit butch. All this going outside wasn’t planned.” El’s fine with the outside. Ellen would be, too. Nanase would have to admit what she likes.

Nanase takes a breath, eyes closing again. “Is it bad it turns me on?”

“The gryphons weren’t wrong.”

Nanase produces an expression of complete disapproval, and shakes El a tiny, tiny amount.

“Combative, protective, expecting to obeyed…” El’s smiling openly and affectionately. Nanase closes her eyes again, so she can think. El’s smile makes it hard to think.

“I want a harem?”

“You’ve got the twin thing,” El says. “You like worshipful responses.”

“I kinda expect those,” Nanase says, slowly.

El nods. “You need somebody to compete with. You never liked boys but beating Elliot in sparring matches turned you on.”

“Dammit,” Nanase says, then “Aren’t you worried about Ashley?”

“Good isn’t vanilla,” El says. “Ashley oscillates between wanting praise and wanting to be safe.”

“Everything she wants,” Nanase says, thinking. An accommodating shape shifter willing to perform most genders might be a kinky bi girl’s ideal partner. Elliot’s altruism fetish and responsibility and superhuman strength do good things for Ashley’s anxiety. Elliot won’t do enough for Ashley’s transformation fetish, but does everything else. Add Ellen and it is everything Ashley needs and maybe all she wants.

“They’re having fun.” El sounds like that’s enough answer. “Ashley gets to stop fitting herself into too small a person.”

Nanase lets go of El, and paces a single quick circle. El isn’t sure what’s agitating Nanase, and lets her hands fall.

“If I go full princess,” Nanase says, straightening up and shoulders going back, “I’d want this form”—two fingers touch El’s right shoulder; Nanase’s left hand undoes the waist string for the back of the sun dress—“to be _mine_.” The whole back skirt panel of El’s sun dress slithers to the floor. Nanase steps close, squishing her breasts into El’s, and takes a firm grip on El’s bare ass with both hands. “Mine mine mine.”

“If I see that like wearing specific lingerie?” El’s got their hands on Nanase’s hips, inside Nanase’s arms.

“That’s…OK,” Nanase says. “How I feel about it doesn’t change.”

“What does _mine_ mean?” El’s calm.

“You come when I tell you to,” Nanase’s voice has dropped a register. “I don’t own you, I don’t want submission, I want you to accept all of how I make you feel without fighting for control, you’re there to feel those things without trying to control them or escape them.”

El nibbles along one side of Nanase’s jaw. “Deal.”

Nanase undoes the dress behind El’s neck, looking exalted. “Chase you into the shower?”

“Can I sashay?” El’s entire look is impish, and El does sashay.

Nanase catches up in the bathroom, and undoes the waist string for the front of the dress. El isn’t wearing anything else. El keeps going into the shower room.

They both brought soap and shampoo. The hotel provides baskets of each. Their room has choices of body wash in scents from pomegranate to rambutan and cinnamon, and the containers are much larger than the usual tiny single-use hotel size.

Nanase snags two on the way into the shower without caring what they are.

El has the overhead shower in the front left corner on. The shower head is ten feet up in the ceiling and points straight down. The circle of water’s three feet across on the warm tile floor, a captive warm rain. El’s finger-combing out her braid, not yet standing under the water.

There’s a shelf at waist height along the left-hand wall; there’s a stack of bath stools in the front right corner. The whole back wall is glass blocks; you can’t see the garden at all, but the afternoon sunlight pours through.

The way the muscles move in El’s forearms and the angle of her neck, turned so she can pull the waves of the braid out straight away from the back of her head, does something to Nanase. El, naked and haloed in the warm light does something else to Nanase, a strange twitchy feeling that isn’t just being turned on.

“Still dressed?” sounds nothing but amused, and Nanase is, until she throws her skirt and her pirate shirt and her underwear out the door of the shower room. The skirt nearly makes it to the bedroom.

The falling circle of water is just away from the walls, front and side; maybe a foot from the wall at the floor, and more as it gets higher. The ring of water’s hollow; El in the middle means Nanase is under the water, hands scrubbing up the line of El’s back. El leans out, both hands on the wall, and makes pleased noises.

Nanase’s first washing pass goes up El’s back; the second starts on the outside curves of El’s hips and goes into the spine and out again, repeating higher and higher until Nanase is running her hands and liquid soap over El’s upper arms. El’s hair has fallen forward, out of the way; a blind blank feeling of desire has filled Nanase’s mind entirely.

Nanase sinks down, one knee on the floor, and runs her hands up one of El’s legs from ankle to ass. She has to scoot around to reach the other, then stands in the falling water, arms going around El under her boobs and just over her pussy, pulling until El’s hands are off the wall and she’s leaning back on Nanase. The water’s warm and pools across her arms; El’s another warm, softer and solid.

“Mine,” Nanase says, voice low and absolute and determined.

El shudders, all over. Nanase has to hold El up a little.

The third bath stool in the set is the right height for El and Nanase; Nanase gets her hair washed first. There’s a shower hose; Nanase can sit on the bath stool with her knees in the falling water, leaning back on one of El’s muscular legs. Not thinking while El’s fingers are gentle on her scalp, as the slow warm gentle water sluices the soap out of her hair, is a new experience for Nanase.

When they switch places, Nanase is wondering if El has fallen asleep during her shampoo. She shuts the shower hose off; El turns her head and licks, delicately, up into the projection of Nanase’s left hip bone. El’s opening eyes can only be described as wicked.

Drying off goes too fast. Tossing one of the massage covers on the sofa is abrupt. El gets sat down in the middle of the sofa, melting down under an intensity of kisses.

“Woo.” El has no idea what is about to happen. She’s sure something will.

Nanase blurs into two; El says “Hi, Fox!”

Fox kisses her. It starts soft and winds up with Fox’s hands on both sides of El’s face and El’s head tipping back to press into the towel Nanase has put on the sofa-back.

Nanase sets another towel over El’s lap, and she and Fox lie down with perfect synchronization, faces in, one side of their heads on El’s thighs.

“This is why,” Nanase says, “I keep asking Ellen to go a bit larger.”

“And the implausible nipples?” El tries to say it smoothly; Fox and Nanase have both started sucking, and it doesn’t work. There are several catches in El’s voice.

“Love them,” Nanase says, grinning up. Putting El’s hand on her hip is simultaneous with Fox. “Hands stay there,” Nanase says, briefly stern, and starts sucking again.

El is an exact copy of Ellen’s boudoir form; her implausible nipples have an abnormally high nerve density in every square millimetre. El has no refractory period between orgasms whatsoever, not for at least the first hour. Nanase gets turned on by reducing El to a helpless puddle of orgasms, and so does Fox. Fox is Nanase’s physically manifest id; everything that turns Nanase on arouses the less-inhibited Fox. The feedback between them increases how turned on they both get, but slowly. There’s no direct stimulation, it’s all emotional feedback between Nanase and Fox. After the first few minutes El probably couldn’t move her hands, not in any intentional way. Nanase isn’t in any hurry. Pause, lick up the underside of a painfully erect nipple, blow on it a little, nibble up the under-curve of the full breast; turn her head and leave a line of kisses over the soft skin over the ribs just under the breast. Fox mirrors Nanase; there’s no bumped heads. Sometimes Fox pops up and lips the curve of El’s ear, or the angle of her jaw. Sometimes Nanase does. Sometimes they both suck extra hard, or run slow spiralling tongues around a trapped nipple just a little too slowly to be bearable.

El’s babbling. There’s nothing like words in it, there’s less and less grip on Nanase and Fox’s respective hips as all the volition leaks out of El. Nanase is getting closer and closer to her own orgasm, the feedback slowly rising, along with the knowledge that El’s slowly going from enjoyment through acceptance of being right now something that does nothing but orgasm, hard, to a slow tipping desire to be that, to put her capacity for desire and her will and some specific angle of self into being that, to chose to be completely helpless to do anything but orgasm as hard as flesh and magic can be driven to sustain.

To be completely receptively helpless because Nanase wants her to be.

Ellen goes low and husky when this happens, breathing with inhales that struggle to suffice the exhalations and the helpless, wordless sound. El’s voice rises, a single sliding _ooh_ that lasts. Nanase recognizes it anyway, and the knowledge that El has chosen to break, to be hers, to be nothing but a volume of orgasms and an entire desire to have whatever sensations Nanase choses to give her, sends Nanase and Fox’s feedback loop over the edge of their own orgasm.

It’s a few minutes before Nanase stands up; Fox is gone back into Nanase, the spell that summons her contented and satiated. El is entirely limp, head back, eyes closed, knees a little apart. She’s damp with sweat and shiny with the diffuse late afternoon light through the windows and the first, finest, layer of sheer curtains and Nanase thinks she’s indescribably beautiful.

There’s a few quiet pictures; they go into the not-for-sharing folder. _Maybe not with anyone_ , Nanase thinks.

Nanase gets herself some water; Nanase comes back with a glass, and watches carefully as El takes it with both hands. It all goes in El, and not on anything.

“Wash my back again, amazing person?” isn’t El’s usual voice. The laugh and the tease are out of it, replaced by contentment.

“Any time,” Nanase says, smug and purring.

* * *

“Early sustenance?” Nanase tries so hard to make it a question.

El’s starving, too.

Nanase finds herself speaking French to the person on the phone; she’s pretty sure she didn’t wind up ordering roast watermelon.

“Clothes?” El wanders over to hug Nanase from behind. Nanase is entirely naked except for the towel around her hair. El winds up a little less in her bathrobe, as Nanase wiggles and says “I suppose.” El slides her hands up to cup Nanase’s breasts; a little heft with no nipple contact. Nanase likes her breasts, thinks they’re pretty and shows them off, but they’re not the best way to turn her on. These are definitely not Elliot’s hands. It’s a comfortable familiar your-shirt-is-off-want-me-to-do-something-for-you? feeling. Nanase turns around and smooches El as thoroughly as she can without losing track of when she’ll need to have clothes on.

Sustenance arrives as kebabs and flat bread and roast fruit, oddly sharp where the honey sauce hasn’t reached. There’s a lot. It’s entirely delicious. It’s almost enough without dessert.

The single chocolate cake, two layers of cake on either side of slab of something that must be fudge, is only slightly wider than it is tall. There are two forks; there are two glazed somethings on it, neither El nor Nanase recognize the fruit. The icing is half an inch thick and mostly double cream and tastes of the fruit, just enough contrast to keep the several chocolate tastes from being completely overwhelming.

“Want to do anything?”

“Laundry,” El says, “use that soaking tub, snuggle up, and sleep.”

“Sleep?”

“I want,” El says, getting up to take two steps and crouch down and put her arms around Nanase, “to curl up with you and hold you and not worry.”

Nanase nods, a catch in the motion and her throat.

“If you wake up at three in the morning hopelessly horny and decide to ravish me,” El says, voice going low, “you’re allowed. It’s welcome. But tonight I need to remind myself everything’s really OK.”

“Worried about Ashley?”

“You didn’t check your phone.” El’s outright grinning. Nanase had got dressed and more or less paced, waiting for dinner to get there. El heads for the bathroom to start washing things, so she has something to wear tomorrow.

Nanase checks her phone.

There’s four messages from Ellen; Nanase had read those, those are replies and all’s-well messages. There’s one from the garage; no part yet.

There’s an email from Ellen.

All it says is “We had fun!”

Picture one: Ellen, naked, soaking wet, green hair slicked back, in a big shower, facing the viewer and haloed with water droplets. It’s full length and frank and not all that sexual a pose except for Ellen’s inviting expression.

Pictures two, three, and four: three quarter rear view of Ashley, just as naked, hair down, transforming from regular Ashley into a pointy-eared amazon.

_In Susan’s pool shower?_ skitters through Nanase’s consciousness.

Picture five: Ellen’s soapy hand sliding down transformed-Ashley’s back; from the curve of the wrist, Ellen is standing in front of Ashley. You don’t get the whole back, even, just enough for most of the curve in from the ribs and the curve out to the hip to be there, and the lots-even-for-transformed muscle definition with soap suds sliding down it.

Picture six: Ellen’s hands in transformed-Ashley’s wet hair. Only Ellen’s hands are really in focus. It takes Nanase a second; Ellen’s legs are over Ashley’s shoulders and the top of Ellen’s back must be against the shower wall, leaving Ellen’s body at low rising angle. The shot is tight; it starts at a level just below the top of transformed-Ashley’s shoulders and ends somewhere on the lower curve of Ellen’s breasts.

Nanase can see the lines of tension in Ellen’s forearms, the implied out-of-focus strain in the muscles of Ellen’s legs.

Picture seven: the shower’s off, it’s full length, Ellen leaning back with her head solidly in transformed-Ashley’s cleavage. Ellen’s smug and grinning and pleased; Ashley’s maybe a little shy and looking at Ellen more than the camera, arms around Ellen with Ellen’s arms over them. Neither of them have dried off or got dressed yet or nodded at modesty.

Susan is standing next to Ellen and Ashley, a little damp in a bare-midriff navy blue tankini and blushing. Susan’s grinning and looking straight at the camera. There’s three visible fairy dolls, perched on top of flash units and a ring-light-and-reflector setup. All the fairy dolls are grinning, too.

Nanase texts Ellen, Susan, and Ashley; “Holy wow.”

Nothing comes back. It’s dinner time.

_They’re probably fucking_ and _I refuse to believe Susan_ collide in Nanase’s mind.

“When did Susan take up photography?”

“Around episode four,” El says from the bathroom, in a pause in the squelching noises. El means episode four of the Review Show Elliot and Susan do together.

“Did you find the spa schedule?” floats out of the bathroom after a pause for some rinsing noises.

“No.”

“Top of the spare massage cover.”

Nanase reads it; turns it over.

“Did you spot the pajamas?”

“Asked Ashley how she felt about purple.”

“And your hands are wet and you can’t check your phone.”

“Ten minutes?”

“You can be so much like Ellen.”

“You know I’m not the original?”

“What?” Nanase stalks over to the bathroom door.

“Tedd gets in the right mood and talks theory,” El says. “Elliot got split. Neither of the results are Elliot. I got the continuity, but that’s flipping a coin.”

“Does it matter?”

Nanase really hopes it doesn’t.

“More magic,” El says. “Something that ought to be trauma.”

“Only you don’t,” Nanase says, suddenly thinking.

“Took about a year to not,” El says, hanging bikini tops over rails of the drying rack. She makes a point of drying her hands, and walks up to Nanase and flows into a hug. “Ellen, too.”

“This is weird,” Nanase says, mostly past El’s left ear.

“FV5 doesn’t make you biddable or make you want to please others. It makes things enjoyable for you. It gives you capacity.”

“When did you get introspective?” Nanase almost says _perceptive_.

“Ellen’s fault.” El’s grinning at Nanase. “Suggested I needed introspection to act correctly.”

“I thought you hated being introspective.” Nanase is wondering what else she got wrong.

“I don’t like being introspective. I hate being confused.”

“Are we trying to get pyjamas?” Nanase is changing the subject. Nanase consciously decided to change the subject.

El nods, lets go of Nanase, goes to get her phone.

“It can’t be mauve,” El says, reading the message from Ashley. “You should have her sizes, too.” There’s some messaging back.

Nanase picks up her phone, and copies Ashley’s measurements into the same list as the others. Then the old-fashioned room phone, with a wire coming out of the wall; the person who brought dinner explained that it seemed more tactful to wait until the guests should choose to call for the remains of dinner to be retrieved. Could someone come for the dishes, please?

Of course pyjamas can be brought to the room for inspection; what were the sizes and colours of interest? It will be but a moment.

Dinner’s remnant leaves, and the pyjamas arrive on hangars on a rolling garment rack, along with a small cheerful woman who almost looks French.

“Pyjamas” turns out to mean something between a wrap and a shawl; a sleeveless top with pearl buttons all down the front long enough to wear by itself; matching pants; slippers; long sheer pants; a sheer top meant to fasten under the arms and no more complicated than a wrap-around sheet of fabric; a plausibly-a-nightshirt long-sleeved top with tiny buttons from neck to navel; an over-robe, heavy and brocaded without being fussy at all; and a robe de chambre in a fabric so fine it stays see-through despite four layers of ruffles.

Nanase, who knows just how unlikely finding something that fits her as an off-the-shelf garment is, doesn’t comment when the nightshirt fits her, shoulders and hips and waist and bust, like it was bespoke. El’s fits, just as exactly.

If they’ve fallen into fairyland they’ve already eaten the food. Paying what are extremely reasonable prices for what they’re getting isn’t increasing her risk any. Something that claims to be washable silk and feels like spun dreams and looks like parts of it might be hand sewn doesn’t make the price more plausible. Nanase has stopping thinking plausible is something to expect from Le Petit Trianon.

Nanase gets a black set, and a green set in El’s sizes for Ellen. Those go on the room’s bill. El gets the royal blue set she tried on, and a purple set for Ashley based on Ashley’s provided sizes. The purple is robustly neither red nor blue and lacks any intimation of pastels. It’s no trouble to take a credit card right here, why thank you, do please enjoy them.

“We just bought sets of pyjamas that come in two garment bags each,” Nanase says.

El’s peeling herself out of the spare T-shirt she wore to try pyjamas on in. El wants to get into the soaking tub.

They’re scrubbed, again, and neck-deep in hot water before Nanase says, “Not the original means what?”

“Elliot got duplicated, not split. Tedd says you can’t split experiences. I got the continuity, the magic part of having been alive. Ellen got a replacement continuity, the nose-beep and the second life thing.”

Nanase nods, chin going splish. Nioi, who provided the nose-beep and the second life for Ellen, said _soul_.

“Elliot’s just as much a duplicate as Ellen is. Nothing keeps me from being physically female, nothing keeps Ellen from being physically male. It’s all questions of preference and desire. It probably wasn’t, before.”

“You’re not mad about this?”

“In sexual terms, it’s like winning the lottery.” El’s outside arm comes up to the rim of the tub, so El can stretch out full length, toes rising out of the water, and then fold back into the seat. “I still don’t know what I want to do with my life, but this isn’t worse.”

“Not all that manly.” Nanase has a moment of intense strangeness saying this to someone whose large left breast is pressed against her right.

“I hate being confused,” El says. “This isn’t less confused, this gets rid of a whole source of confusion. It’s easier to be there for people.”

Nanase inhales, stops.

“I need an affectionate nickname for you,” El says. “I am absolutely delighted to get to smooch you. I am absolutely delighted you fisted me last night, and that you turned me into a puddle today. If some of what I get out of this is being happy to make you happy, that doesn’t mean I’m not having fun.”

“How many people can you make happy?” Nanase can see how this works in theory, but _What makes me happy?_ is not a natural question for Nanase to ask herself.

“Ashley really wants some mwahaha,” El says, smiling. “We talked about it. Ashley thinks this is hot. Ashley is in favour on stronger grounds than fairness. I think this is amazing.”

“Ellen?”

“Pushes about half your buttons, knows it, and wants you to get the other half pushed.”

Nanase makes a noise. “That.” Ellen is aware that Nanase sees their relationship as a duty to Ellen; that’s not all she sees it as, but there’s only so far from the Kitsune upbringing Nanase can get.

“Ellen isn’t girl-only. Ellen wants you to be contented without having to work really hard.”

“So I’m high maintenance.”

“So you’ve got appetites,” El says, quietly. It’s not disapproval. “Your twin fetish is happy. Somebody like Diane would be straight-up competitive, and the need for triumph is happy.”

“I” comes out and “don’t have a need for triumph” stops in Nanase’s throat, because it would be a lie.

“I like you,” El says. “Ellen likes you. It’s not all horniness.”

Nanase worries about that; believing she’s hot isn’t difficult. Believing she’s likable or nice is difficult.

“You talked about this.”

“We talk about this. Ellen and I are a social unit to anybody who knows we’re duplicates.”

Which, yeah. Nanase never has decided how she feels about that.

Half an hour later, they haul themselves out of the soaking tub, lower the cover back down over it, and dry off. El mutters something about hair drying spells; the hair dryers available under the vanities come close. El slides back into her spare T-shirt and hauls a cloud of blonde hair back out of it. It isn’t any longer than the T-shirt Ellen was in, matching forms with Elliot.

Nanase has a battered cotton singlet and panties.

It’s early, but they’re both warm and well-fed and it’s been a long day. Nanase isn’t quite sure how they wind up with El on her back and Nanase draped over El so Nanase’s head is pillowed on El’s breasts. Nanase has absolutely no impulse to complain, for the little while Nanase stays conscious.


	8. It's not Monday anymore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elliot and Nanase have a spa day. 
> 
> Ashley reassures Liz. Ashley talks to Tedd about ethics. Ashley and Ellen talk about lots of things.

## Tuesday

Sometime in the middle of the night, El wakes up, uses the bathroom, and slides back under the top sheet. It’s a peculiarity of sleeping with Nanase that Nanase lets go as soon as El tries to pull away with more determination than a mild sleepy wiggle, but reattaches herself instantly as soon as El comes back into reach. No waking up or evidence of alertness is involved. El’s figured out that she can lie on her side if she gets into bed that way. El’s lying on her right side; Nanase’s left hand is tucked under El’s right breast, Nanase’s face is solidly in El’s cleavage, their legs are tangled, and Nanase’s right hand has a firm grip on El’s right butt cheek, having reached around her ass to achieve it. It’s like sleeping with an affectionate clamp.

El’s arms are free, and El’s phone was blinking tactfully from its niche in the headboard.

It’s texts from Susan.

 _I appreciate the compliments._ _I want to do that again._ _You’re invited, any gender._

Those three were sent close together, then there’s a gap in the time stamps.

_I get off on it. During doesn’t seem unlikely. Don’t know if that’s a warning or full disclosure or an admission. Didn’t know I liked to watch that much._

That was hours ago. El types, careful to be quiet.

 _Sounds like you get less stress and aren’t left out. I’m for it._ _thank you, for all the things_

El slides her phone back into the niche; it’s almost behind her and she has to twist. Nanase almost lets go, then nuzzles in as El twists forwards again. Details of asking these specific affectionate exhibitionists if they mind Susan’s voyeurism can wait. So can thoughts about encrypted file storage, what viewing opportunities would turn Susan on the most, or the single stray thought wondering if Susan would want pyjamas.

Nanase always smells like Nanase; there’s the fruit scents from the shampoo, there’s whatever collection of flower petals Le Petit Trianon uses on its sheets, but underneath that overlay Nanase smells like magic and competence.

El puts her arms around Nanase and falls back asleep.

* * *

“Hi!” Ashley’s surprised to see Liz; Ashley is in running shorts and a sports bra and what are definitely running shoes, because it’s six o’clock in the morning and Ashley is going for a run just as soon as she gets done stretching. Liz being awake now might mean Liz hasn’t been to bed.

Liz manages not to scowl; Ashley stretching means she has one heel up on a phone pole in a vertical split. Ashley has her forehead on the high knee, and looks completely delighted with life. Ashley looks like she ought to be; Ashley usually looks excessively healthy and energetic and just pleased. Today is all of those, more than usual, and what Liz decides might be relaxed.

“Hey,” is about all Liz can manage.

Ashley switches legs. There’s no _oof_ noises or concentration or any indication that this could be the least bit difficult. Where Ashley’s feet are changes; the patterns of muscle showing shift through the process. Liz acknowledges that those are all unworthy thoughts she’s having and lets them all keep going. If she has to mentally kick the _hot dork_ thought a few times before it lets go, there’s no one to know.

“Are you up early or late?”

“Early.” Liz inhales. It’s not Ashley’s fault. “Summer job. Day camp. Equipment. No kids.”

“You have to be there early?”

Liz nods. Liz hasn’t had coffee. Liz can’t decide how disturbed to be that she woke up before her alarm.

Ashley knew about the job, but didn’t know about the early start. It makes sense now.

Ashley puts both feet on the ground and starts walking along with Liz. It’s not that much of a walk and Ashley can start running from the park with the day camp.

There’s a place to get coffee on the way. Liz drinks her coffee black with espresso in it. Ashley gets a tall complex milkshake of a coffee drink. Liz makes the familiar effort not to grimace. Ashley has the metabolism of an exceptionally active ferret; a thousand calories of whipped cream isn’t going to change what Ashley eats for breakfast.

They keep walking; Liz gets a third of the way down her coffee. It’s enough to enable actual sentences.

“Are you sure Elliot likes girls?”

Ashley laughs. She doesn’t mean to, and she tries to stop, but Ashley has to stop walking and set her drink down before she can make herself stop laughing.

“Elliot likes girls.” Ashley looks at Liz looking uncomfortable and says “You don’t usually want details?”

“It’s like you’re being thrown at his lesbian sister.”

“Bi,” Ashley says. “They’re superhumanly strong. They’re really really careful with it and I can ask either of them to squish me and they just will and they get it just right and they don’t get judgy or make jokes.”

“ _Superhuman_ superhuman?”

“Haven’t seen any lifted cars,” Ashley says. “Twice as strong as they ought to be?” Ashley’s picked up her drink again, as part of shrugging about her strength estimate. Ashley’s contemplatively licking whipped cream and maybe ice cream off the spoon. Liz is absolutely sure it’s not flirting, which is good, because if that’s absent-minded, intentional Ashley flirting would be lethal.

The little curled-up tongue tip thing along the spoon is pretty bad anyway.

“They’re from different universes,” Ashley says. “It’s not like they grew up as brother and sister, I’m not sure either of them is this universe’s original.”

“The hell?”

“I’m supposed to learn” and Ashley makes a deprecatory gesture. Liz nods. “I’ve got a physical Clippy to teach me stuff. I get a human tutor in the fall, I get more books, but right now I’ve got this helpful thing.” Inhabiting her bedroom bookshelf.

“Em-learning?” Liz means a pun on “e-learning”.

“Kinda,” Ashley says. “There’s a lot of math. I asked about Elliot because,”

 _You’re in love,_ Liz thinks.

“You know that trousers-of-time thing?” Ashley isn’t sure Liz does.

Liz nods.

“Elliot and Ellen are the whole pair of pants ending up in one place.” Ashley makes a bit of face and scrapes with the spoon for the last bit of her coffee drink. “They’re different people but they’re closer than twins.”

“That would scare me,” Liz says. “That does scare me.” Liz has left the last two swallows in her coffee because she’s going to need them.

Ashley finishes licking the spoon. “Mom says that if you find somebody who rubs your feet when they’re not trying to seduce you, you check for a foot fetish, you pay extra attention to whether you feel more capable or more helpless around them, and you take seriously the possibility of good fortune.”

Liz doesn’t say anything. They’re running out of distance; they’re at one corner of the park, the building with the day camp stuff isn’t far now.

Liz has to say something. “Why aren’t you bouncing at all?”

Ashley’s sports bra is doing an impossible job. There isn’t exceptionally much to Ashley, but Ashley’s energetic. There should be some motion.

“Magic bra,” Ashley says. “Added as a ‘here, you might like this’ add-on to what I did ask for.”

Liz has read too many stories about people being lost to the otherworld, taken by fairies or falling into portals. Ashley’s answer gives her so many more things to say, but they’re at the park building with the day-camp stuff in it.

Ashley’s drink container goes in the recycle; Liz takes her last two ritual swallows and slams her coffee cup after it. Liz can cope with people today.

“You still up for goth things?” Liz says it sideways, to somewhere past Ashley.

“Yes,” Ashley says, and hugs Liz square on.

Liz spends the whole day emotionally tilted.

* * *

The text comes in from Ellen _Hey._

Nanase sends Ellen a picture of breakfast. There was a pound of ham, cubed and fried before cheese was melted over it. There were waffles, and creamed butter, and a quart mug of the amazing grape juice from the champagne grapes. Half of one of the waffles was gone when Nanase remembered to take the picture.

_Digesting. No complex thoughts._

It’s followed by a gathering of outright sappy I-love-you emojis.

_Ashley’s really subby._

_Too subby?_

Won’t say what she wants, Nanase means.

_Just-right subby. Knows what she wants, asks, brave about it._

_good-girl-means-doing-what-she’s-told?_

_Lots._

_Dammit._

_slow hug?_ Ellen sends several emojis along with the words.

_purr_

Nanase mutters to herself and decides to risk it.

_Anything that makes Mother think you’re maybe going to leave me lowers tension. Warming to Elliot lowers tension. Complex household formation won’t._

_Ever wonder if your mom wants you to go full princess?_

_No._ Nanase is shaking her head at her phone.

_Not impossible._

_Dammit._ _you’re right, it’s not._ _she won’t ever outright_ say

There’s a pause, and Ellen changes the subject a little. _Am I getting too tangled up with Ashley?_

_No. I don’t want the fight with Mother but I want to make my own choices more._

_I’m in favour._

_Ashley’s cute. I want her to kneel down and put her head on my lap so I can pet her hair until she relaxes._

_The lean in and whisper “come for me” part works already._

_Dammit._ Nanase says it out loud.

* * *

The hotel room is full of sunlight, faintly green from the hedge or screening trees or whatever it is. Drawing the finest of the sheer curtains diffuses the light without diminishing it. The closet doors are white, but shiny; the back of the entrance door is matte. El and Nanase take turns taking the pyjama sets out of their garment bags to hold them up by the entrance door. Pictures in good light, to give a clear sense of the colour.

That’s what the initial message to Ellen and Ashley says; “real colour”.

In the pictures, Nanase isn’t wearing anything at all; her hair is down, and she’s taking no notice whatsoever of not wearing anything. The translucent sleeves of the robes de chambre, whether black or green, seem more like shadows than fabric against Nanase’s skin. The thicker silk fabric of the nightgown pours over Nanase’s forearm and lights her face strangely from below, dim or greenly glorious.

Nanase’s expression is the sort of smile that says “I didn’t say you could get out of bed” and means it.

El is wearing a bikini. It’s white and mostly string. It would be inadequate to modesty if it wasn’t white. El is aware; El puts a roll into her hips, just in case modesty were to get any ideas. El’s hair is completely up; braids, wrapped around her head. It results in a surprising view of elegant neck.

The blue in that set of pyjamas really suits El. The purple, in the strong sunlight, has an imperial gravitas. It’s difficult to pay attention to the pyjamas; attention tends to focus on the bikini’s inadequacy, rather than the interposed splashes of colour.

* * *

Ashley had texted about coming over, after her run and breakfast. Ellen had said _yes_. Grace is being tactful about providing social space to Ellen; Tedd’s burrowed into a problem. Justin’s somewhere on some sort of challenging group hike. Susan’s checked in, been indirectly reassured about photography, and is headed off with Diane and Lucy for sword lessons.

Ellen doesn’t think sword lessons are going to be good for Diane and Lucy’s relationship; Diane saw Susan behead a vampire with a sword and thought _I had better learn how_ , not _ick_ , not _get me out of here_. Being in love with heroic people is hard work. Ellen’s carefully aware that Ashley is brave, but it’s not the same. It makes Ashley comfortable company in ways no one else is.

 _No unresolved sexual tension_ , Ellen thinks to herself and smiles, just as both their phones ping.

Pyjamas. Yes, of course that’s what they’re going to be looking at.

There’s video; El’s inviting hip roll, Nanase making a quarter-turn into a better angle of light, sheer green robe sleeve not even trying for modesty.

Ashley says something that might have “green” in it.

“No drooling.” Ellen’s smiling; at least three of Nanase’s pictures with the green pyjama set would justify drooling from a cheap plaster garden gnome. Ashley’s face, half-blank with lust, is exceptionally cute. Ellen wants to kiss it.

“Mistress?” Ashley looks suddenly completely terrified. “Am I doing this wrong?”

“No.” Ellen pulls Ashley into a hug; they had been sitting at different ends of the Dunkel’s couch with their feet tangled together.

“Thanks.” It’s muffled, more down than into Ellen’s shoulder.

“What brought that on?”

“Reasons you’re not going to be jealous slid into Liz worrying about Elliot’s altruism fetish and it all just melted.” Ashley’s straightened up a little to say this, and tucks herself back down. Ellen hugs with more force.

“I want to be good,” Ashley says. “Now I don’t have rules. There will be some, but I don’t have a lot of experience, my Mom says sex gets better with practice and she also says to make sure I’m not being valued as novelty.”

Ellen picks Ashely up; Ellen stands up and moves left on the couch, so they’re both in that corner, then sits down so Ashley’s sitting crossways on Ellen’s lap. Ashley tucks her legs up so Ellen can squish her, and Ellen does.

“The adults won’t tell us stuff,” Ellen says. “I think magic makes you kinky. We sure don’t know anybody magical who doesn’t have inclinations.”

Ashley nods.

“You’re used to being afraid you’re too horny.”

“Yeah.”

“So you’re worried we’re passing you around for fun and then we’re not going to care?”

“I don’t want to believe that,” Ashley says.

“Only reliable reason to stop believing that is when we don’t,” Ellen says. “You know I get off on making you come because you’re so turned on you’re helpless to do anything else, you can’t trust anything much I say about getting bored.”

Ashley draws back a little. Ellen lets her, looks her in the eyes. “I intend to be a good mistress,” Ellen says.

Ashley nods and tucks herself back in.

“This is terrifying.”

“And not the roller-coaster kind.”

Ashely sighs, and wiggles in. “How do I be good?”

“You know anybody in drama, loves playing dress up?”

“People who’re just different when they get to dress goth?”

Ellen nods. “That’s Elliot with gender. Sometime around graduation Elliot’s basic caution got done chewing on the problem and now you’re going out with someone who will buy that bikini.”

“Think I can get the male version into unlined bike shorts?”

“Asking’ll work.” Ellen kisses Ashley’s forehead. “Elliot wants you to be happy.”

Ashley’s holding on to Ellen goes more relaxed. “Pink is stupid-hot.”

Ellen smiles. Pink reflects Ashley’s preferences more than the what-Nanase-likes form El’s in at the moment.

“I don’t know the rules either,” Ellen says. “My guess is that all of our parents, mine, Nanase’s, Tedd’s, aren’t telling us things. We don’t know why. Something happened just after that generation had kids. Nanase and I decided kids were late-if-at-all. Magical makes you horny, it makes you weird, it seems to settle out in middle age. That’s all we really know.”

“Lonely, horny, and stupid are all the same thing,” Ashley says. “Mom’s told me that so many times. And then says that at my age I need reliable and kind, not to worry about anything long term.”

“Our moms would agree about that,” Ellen says.

“You’re serious about this horniness management collective?” Ashley’s mood is swinging back toward being brave about things.

Ellen nods, squeezes Ashley with a hand slid down to cup the curve of her hip. “Nanase is amazing. Can’t top Nanase. Like doing it for you.”

Ashley nods. “I like being transformed.” There’s an inhale. “Elliot feels safer.”

Ellen nods, and doesn’t attribute that feeling to Elliot’s extra bone and muscle.

There’s some smooching.

“Can I lie down and put my head in your lap so I’m brave enough to text Tedd?” Ashley’s sincerely worried.

“Bra-off boob squish?” Ellen has been learning what makes Ashley feel safe.

“Top off?” Ashley doesn’t believe that just asking works. Ashley intends to keep asking until she starts believing the results.

Topless Ashley props her head on Ellen’s leg, settles Ellen’s hand where she wants it, wiggles contentedly, and starts texting.

A: got a minute?

T: sure!

A: I’ve been asking you about sexy transforms and maybe I don’t know you that well. If you’ve got unresolved stuff with Elliot I really shouldn’t. If you’re going to teach me in the fall, I shouldn’t ask you about sexy transforms. Have I been bad about boundaries?

T: Nah. Every transform’s sexy to someone. Can’t leave that out, not for humans.

There’s a pause; Ellen applies a tiny bit of squeeze.

T: Don’t tell me details about what or who with. I insist you assure me any practical application is with someone over the age of consent, and we should talk about magic and consent.

A: Absolutely over age of consent. What’s with magic and consent?

T: Some transforms mess with your head. FV5 used to, Ellen’s still does. T: Even if the transformation doesn’t, being transformed might. Dysphoria, euphoria, transformation can ruin your judgement.

A: Like alcohol?

T: Kinda. Not impaired. Maybe elevated? You get better at the thing. Sometimes there you are flying.

A: Don’t do it alone?

T: Spotters and a plan and forgiving yourself for being stupid after you fix it. Pre-consider consent. Plan to un-transform and talk about it. T: But totally ask me about technical transformation sexy things. Magic works best for what you care about. Pretending to be someone else snarls it up.

A: Thank you.

T: You’re welcome. Boundary-checking’s a good idea. Remind me to put it on the teaching schedule, both directions.

A: I will.

* * *

Nanase has never been to a spa. El has never been to a spa. The spa portion of Le Petit Trianon absorbs this information, observes their obvious youth, their excellent complexions, and their degree of fitness, along with their slightly unnerved finger-tip hand-holding, and sends them into a four-hour afternoon relaxation package together.

Half an hour of hot soak, then an hour of massage meant to encourage the circulation of one’s chi. It comes with some ability to recognize people whose chi already circulates freely, because the massage tables are placed between large dull rocks; please drape your hands on the rocks, and allow any surplus to drain into the earth.

“Fine, fine, it’s balanced” in a soft voice from the masseuse really shouldn’t reassure Nanase, or so Nanase tries to think; Nanase has almost no experience of relaxation and can’t bring herself to care. The masseuse clearly isn’t worried. The rocks warmed up a little, but not uncomfortably much. There’s a faint sense of magic from over towards El, but no one is remarking on anything. Nanase keeps her face down into the massage table head frame and doesn’t worry about anything.

The much smaller smooth warm rocks, one at a time on each of the dantian points, and then filling in between, are really lovely. Nanase goes from the that’s-nice sensations of the massage to a complete peace. It doesn’t last once the rocks start to cool, but it certainly happened and Nanase isn’t sure for how long. The rocks get replaced; the massage involves moving some of them, and the oil is different. Nanase puddles, happily.

Stand up, move, carefully, through some half-familiar exercises meant to be sure there’s no stagnant chi collected anywhere, sip some lemon water, and then sit. The chairs are substantial, heated, covered in something more like a bath sail than a bath sheet, and tip back. Sustained, thorough hand and foot massage with oils; one masseuse per side, switching between hands and feet. Another masseuse providing scalp massage with something faintly scented, alternating with facial, neck, and collar-bones done with delicate fingers and something less faintly scented. Nanase cannot decide if it smells like roses or joy.

Rehydration and restoration of minerals; different, very comfortable chairs after a short walk over heated floors. Warm tea in small smooth porcelain cups, thinly sliced smoked fish, small salted crackers, and more lemon water. Nanase isn’t nearly as hungry as she would expect to be; the whole thing is delicious. The pickled something, whether fruit or vegetable Nanase doesn’t recognize it, is faintly crunchy between her teeth, and the taste is sharp and tangy and not bitter at all.

Back out, through an even better shower than the one in their room. There’s a specifically restorative scented liquid soap, and the simple cotton G-strings they’ve been wearing the whole time go in a hamper. Nanase pulls El into an embrace under the warm falling water and refuses to move or think.

* * *

Dinner is amazing; even when Nanase expects the _Sustenance_ to be amazing, it outdoes itself. Dinner is a shared elk loin roast with a currant sauce and a large salad containing no lettuce whatsoever. Spinach, other leaves, small whole hard-boiled eggs, and nuts; some kind of nut-oil and honey dressing, with accents of chopped tomatoes and what are definitely not bell peppers. The dessert course is several pancakes, sweet hot peach preserves, and a completely unsweetened chocolate sauce likely pleasing to a Mesoamerican god. There is lots of the restorative tea from the spa, not quite as warm and in much larger cups, and dessert comes with delicate small glasses of cider. They’re quite sure it’s alcoholic and there’s an unspoken mutual decision not to care. The cider tastes like someone pressed it out of mythological apples; neither of them would expect to feel themselves getting younger, but if eighty year olds walk out of a stay at Le Petit Trianon looking thirty, neither El nor Nanase will be the least bit surprised.

They didn’t get dressed; they walked back to their room in fresh bathrobes and ordered dinner and ate it. Dishes gone, there’s a suddenly awkward moment when Nanase gets up and would pace only she decides she’s still really too relaxed and too full to fret.

“Nanase.” El’s voice manages to be a little serious. Not _we need to talk_ , but _I’m not joking_. “You having a crisis?” El’s concerned. El might get up off the sofa.

Nanase sits back down, mutters, and rolls; she winds up with her head in El’s lap and both legs sticking out of the robe and up, still together, on the back of the sofa.

“This was supposed to be once.” Nanase turns her face into El’s stomach and nuzzles, disordering El’s bathrobe.

“Who says it was once?” El is quite, quite sure Ellen didn’t think it was once. They talked it over carefully, several times. Any of the four of them could decide it was a bad idea after trying, El’s been careful to remember that, but that wasn’t what Ellen or Elliot had expected or planned.

“I have this story in my head,” Nanase says. “We could do this once, it’d be closure. It’d be over, I could be a good person and never stray from Ellen again, if this was even straying. It’d let me believe in things with Ellen more, breaking up with Elliot was essentially about being gay.”

Nanase has never been able to believe Ellen and Elliot are fundamentally that different, that she could be emotionally incompatible with one and compatible with the other.

“Rather than being idiots and thinking love is a thing you can grab or that you somehow know who The One is?” El’s voice is wry.

“Ellen’s at least seven-eighths,” Nanase says.

“Right now,” El says. “There aren’t many princess-and-dragon stories out there with happy endings.”

“You don’t think we can do it?” If that is what El thinks, it’s a blow.

“Any of us have to make it up,” El says, completely serious. Nanase’s view is mostly the underside of El’s bust contained in a luxury cotton bathrobe and the incongruity catches somewhere in Nanase’s brain.

Nanase is full, and warm, and spent most of the afternoon more relaxed than she can remember ever being before. Some stubborn little voice of propriety in Nanase says _fuck it_.

“The princess and the dragon can be on the same side. I can trust Ellen to protect things. Ellen can trust me to protect her, and win, and bring the prizes home.”

El runs a gentle hand from Nanase’s forehead back over her hair.

“We talk about it,” Nanase says. “But” and Nanase says something extremely improper in French, sitting up and getting up and picking up her phone and vanishing into the bathroom, thumbs moving.

 _We’re making burgers, just a sec_ comes back from Ellen quicker than Nanase thought it would. Then the phone rings.

“You ok?”

“Mostly,” Nanase says. “This is a story. Who’s writing it?”

“Collaboration?” Ellen didn’t think that part was a question.

“Just us? Who gets” and Nanase makes a violent motion with her free hand, “script credit, I don’t know, we’re collaborating, I keep trying not to talk about sex, I’m sorry, but who is on the writing team and who is auditioning and were we trying to offer other people parts in the story?”

“Our story and my story aren’t the same,” Ellen says. “Same with your story; I don’t get to write your mother out.”

“True,” Nanase says.

“My story has Elliot in it. Your story has Elliot in it. It’s not the same Elliot in both stories.” There’s no judgment or complaint in Ellen’s voice. “Your twin fetish is real. So is wanting to prove you’re the hottest.”

It’s a struggle; it feels like it ought to hurt, because it’s the whole notion of propriety Nanase has been taught, dying on the heated floor of the actual bathroom. “True.” Nanase’s ability to make illusions has _something_ unreal melting and pooling on the soaking tub cover.

“We’ve got a plot line. El’s plot line has Ashley, and Tedd, and Susan, and Sarah already. You’ve got past episodes with Susan.” Ellen doesn’t say she doesn’t have history. Nanase hears it. Nanase splatters some fiery illusions across the tiles.

“I have no idea what to do.” The words hurt to say; it feels like a permanent failure.

“You know those fantasy lesbian romances you like?” Ellen sounds confident.

“Yeah?”

“Those are a kind of true romance; one pair, happily ever after. It’s the wrong genre. In that genre, Ashley might be my sister-in-law and smooching her is bad. I want a genre where I can smooch Ashley and you can at least get into innuendo contests with Diane and admit you want El and we don’t think that’s a failure.”

“What’s the right genre?”

“Doubt it has a name. Xenophilic collectivism?” There’s a smile in Ellen’s voice. “I want you. I want to collaborate at life with you. I mean _you_ , not some false ideal.”

“Where you don’t have to pretend,” Nanase says.

“Where I don’t have to pretend,” Ellen agrees, hoping Nanase hears _and you don’t either_.

“So I’m going back in there and sorting out with Elliot, El, what our basis of collaboration is?”

“I hope so,” Ellen says. “If it was anybody else I’d be worried but it isn’t so I’m not.”

Nanase nods unconsciously.

“Ashley and I are collaborating on practical coping strategies for being uselessly horny all the damn time,” Ellen says. “You are glorious and wonderful and I don’t want to get needy at you.”

There is some difference in libido. Not much; Nanase is horny most of the time herself. But not all the time, and all the time is a fair description of Ellen. And Ashley is implausibly nice.

“I’m in favour,” Nanase says. She is; she very much is. She feels a future die anyway.

“What are you hoarding?” It comes out abruptly; Nanase didn’t say anything about dragons first. Ellen gets it.

“Maybe dragons are about being tough and reliable and managing the finances.”

“And princesses like going carousing with select knights?” Nanase flushes, saying this.

“If you can decide you actually want to,” Ellen says.

“I want to,” Nanase says, surprised at how completely it’s true. She wants to. “Am I allowed to?”

“I say yes,” Ellen says. “I love you, not monogamy.”

“I love you so much,” Nanase says, voice suddenly full of all the awful possibilities.

“Nanase. It’s El.” There’s a large smile in Ellen’s tone of voice. “What exactly are you worried about?”

“Wanting to keep doing it” gets out before Nanase manages to realize what she’s saying.

“How is that bad?” Ellen makes it a serious question.

“Can’t go back,” Nanase says.

Ellen waits.

“I wanted to say we could have had a normal life, and then I listened to myself.” Nanase sounds like she might cry.

“Not an option.” Ellen’s tone is as gentle as she can make it. “Lesbians, sure, that’s an option. Princess Magical Girl and the Alien Space Magic Duplicate Dragon?”

“Space magic?”

“Dragon magic?” Ellen’s tearing up a little herself, because Nanase almost laughed. “Not even usual magic.”

“Yeah.” Nanase has a moment of feeling completely sad. Gryphons from another universe found her magic exceptional. Ellen’s might be unique.

“What do I do?” Nanase tries hard to sound cheerful.

“Go cry on El,” Ellen says. “Decide what the two of you are collaborating on.”

“You got any hopes about that?” _Rules_ , Nanase almost says.

“Fuck her right through the mattress,” Ellen says. “Try that new spell. Come home and do me.”

Nanase makes a noise a bit like _glurk_.

“I’ve got volition,” Ellen says. “If you give a magic sex toy volition…” and trails off.

“You’re going to want sex,” Nanase says.

“And cuddles, and a happy shiny princess.”

There’s a pause.

“You,” is all Nanase manages to say.

“I’m sad I’m not there to cry on,” Ellen says. “I’m ecstatic you’re getting through this.”

“Love you,” Nanase says.

“Love you,” Ellen says, and hangs up.

Nanase switches her phone screen off and walks back out to the main bedroom.

* * *

Ashley took the not-quite done burgers off the barbecue when Ellen took the call. She’s got everything that needs covering covered, the barbecue turned off, and the drinks back in the fridge. She’s dithering about whether the burgers ought to go back in the fridge and if there’s a meat thermometer to check.

Ellen comes up behind her and hugs her; it’s enveloping, Ellen catches Ashley’s hands, and the position lets Ellen nibble on the side of Ashley’s neck.

“Emotional progress,” Ellen says. “The glorious dumbass.”

Ashley makes a confused noise.

“I absolutely love Nanase,” Ellen says. “Nanase is not on speaking terms with her feelings half the time.”

“Is…”

“I think it’s going well,” Ellen says, still with a firm grip on Ashley. “I want food, I want to find out if you’d be interested in a sleepover, if you are I want serious naked cuddles.”

“Not the backup plan?” Ashley only just manages to say it out loud.

“Not the backup plan, not your fault. No introspection and Nanase’s twin fetish brought almost all the awkward.”

“Other awkward?”

“El is about as pro-active as lint.” Ellen sighs. “Which is about all El could do with Nanase.”

Ashley smiles. “Should it make me feel special?”

“Yes,” Ellen says.

Ashley produces a pleased wiggle. Ashley’s wearing a handkerchief top and a snug denim skirt. Ellen kisses the top of her shoulder. Ellen makes a conscious decision that she’s more hungry than horny and lets go. Ashley turns around and kisses Ellen before stepping back to a mutual nod and “Food!”.

Ellen gets the barbecue lit again. Ashley texts home.

Ellen’s got the patties back on the grill when Ashley’s phone rings. Ashley answers; Ashley’s eyebrows go up, and she hands Ellen the phone. Ellen hands Ashley the lifter and steps back from the grill.

“Hello?”

“Several prior discussions,” Ellen says. “Not swapping; being efficient about keeping Ashley squished.”

“I got possessed.”

Ashley, at the grill, carefully doesn’t look at Ellen’s face.

“I don’t have PTSD because I’m weird that way.” There’s a pause. “So is Elliot.”

“I can tell you who to ask about vampires; I don’t know any statistics. That one is completely dead.”

“Consent is the rule for criminal liability,” Ellen says. “More concerned with sustained enthusiasm.”

“Nanase has _dibs_ ,” Ellen says. “That’s not an override.”

“Ashley is extremely cute and responds well to nibbling,” Ellen says with a completely straight face.

“I have no idea what I’m going to want in four years,” Ellen says. “I don’t feel a need to know. If I behave decently, I lose fewer possibilities.”

Ellen listens for a few seconds, and hands the phone back to Ashley. Ashley’s face is suffused, handing the lifter back.

“Embarrassment doesn’t cure anxiety.” Ashley’s tone is completely conversational.

“Yes I still want to stay over.” There’s a pause.

“Bye!” comes out quickly. Ashley hangs up.

“I’m supposed to bring you home for dinner tomorrow,” comes out rather reluctantly.

Ellen just grins.

* * *

Housekeeping had come through Nanase and El’s room while they were in the spa. There’s spare bathrobes and the couch massage cover has been replaced and the towel cabinet restocked. There are, both on the right hand vanity, two one-litre bottles of complimentary toy wash. They know it’s complimentary because there’s a handwritten note.

Neither of them had thought of buying toy wash at the time; this is, from the ingredients list, the good stuff. It’s Le Petit Trianon branded.

They hadn’t noticed before dinner.

Now, Nanase has done an hour of katas and is standing by the right hand sink, carefully scrubbing the blue toys. El has lain down on the heated bathing room floor and done some stretches that turned into a sequence of standing meditation poses.

Nanase appears in the bathing room door; El flows down out of the pose and walks over and hugs her.

“Wash your back?” El is entirely unsure of what Nanase will say. They’ve been through a lot of water today.

“Please,” Nanase says.

It turns into an efficient and friendly whole-body wash in both directions. Towelled off, in bathrobes and with their hair still up in shower caps, they close the curtains and sit by the window on folding stools they found in the useful-stuff closet.

“I want to and I can’t,” Nanase says.

“Right-now can’t, or not-at-all can’t?” El’s voice is even. Not unconcerned, but even.

“Right-now can’t,” Nanase says. “If we’re doing this, me and Ellen and you and Ashley at least, I need a new understanding of duty.”

“That’s important,” El says. Nanase has a spell that lets her be most of an angel. Nanase getting confused about the right thing to do is bad. “Dad says duty is what you do so future-you has a positive self-image.”

“When does your dad ever talk?”

“Not often,” El says. “But sometimes.”

* * *

“Mmmm.” It had been one of a long, slow series of kisses.

“Getting late?” Ashley’s nervous. Ellen’s bed is a single.

“Yeah,” Ellen says, and offers to wash Ashley’s back.

“So,” Ellen says, one hand on Ashley’s collar bones and the other sliding a sponge through scrubbing motions of nape to sacrum, “you orgasm from anticipation sometimes.”

Ashley nods. The smooth soapy motion’s really nice. Finding words seems like way too much work.

“I think the default form extras make that easier.” Ellen’s really very sure about this, and should be. Ashley nods again. Ashley’s realizing that she’s allowed to haze out like this, that it’s not a problem. That there are circumstances where Ellen views it as success.

Being dried off with a big fluffy towel doesn’t increase Ashley’s inclination to find words, or to focus on her surroundings.

“The idea,” Ellen says as Ashley puts her arms up for a hug and tries not to think about how both of them are still entirely naked, “is that today’s been awful. If we curl up with your face in my boobs and I pet your head and tell you you’re a good girl” — Ellen steps into the hug and does stroke one hand over Ashley’s head and neck — “maybe you can quietly come yourself to sleep.”

Ashley says “Oh” into Ellen’s ear and nods and says “Please, Mistress, yes.”

It takes a little while to get arranged; Ashley manages the face-into-boobs part, but then she’s slid down far enough she can’t get as much pressure from Ellen’s thigh as she really wants. They do still fit tightly together and it feels safe and Ashley makes a decision not to care. The repeated whispered gentle certain “good girl” and the petting and just being held securely let Ashley relax enough that her horniness can take over. The adjusted default helps; it has the FV5 willed libido pause, which means it’s got the _release_ , too, and all the stress and anxiety quietly shudders out of her as she takes almost an hour to completely fall asleep.


	9. Wednesday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nanase has to attach words to the feels

### Wednesday

Nanase has had enough of being in even a really nice hotel room. The garage messaged just after breakfast; the parts aren’t in. Nanase and El are out for a walk.

El’s in the red sun dress; it makes El’s skin look darker. The big swoopy sun hat gets a little brighter with contrast.

It’s a town; it’s not a large town. There’s a little river, and there’s a path along it. The occasional cyclist and some kids on rollerblades and a variety of joggers don’t manage to fill the path much. Nobody whistles or turns their head; there’s some definite eye motion. Nanase blames those on the Imperial Banana sports bra. She’s wearing that, her new skirt, and a big sheer white sun shirt that she hasn’t done up. It doesn’t cohere as an ensemble, but then again Nanase doesn’t want to try to imagine what would, between her primary-colour red hair and the yellow and purple sports bra.

It’s something distracting to think about. Thinking about anything else—El’s sneakers with the sun dress and swoopy hat works, it just makes it cuter, and some dispassionate part of Nanase’s mind is trying to point out that this is evidence that Nanase’s brain is turning to mush about El—doesn’t help.

There’s a bench. It’s shaded, there’s a couple gurgling knee-high falls in the little river here, it’s quiet and pretty and smells like water and a summer made out of green things. Nanase sort of waves at it.

“I like doing things I don’t enjoy having” isn’t what Nanase was planning to say.

“So?” El sort of kneels on the bench, folding up so she’s facing between Nanase and the back of the bench; it means El can lean on the back of the bench and face Nanase. It’s also stupidly effective cleavage enhancement El absolutely did not need, and Nanase carefully looks back out over the water.

“Is that fair?” Nanase is sure it’s not.

“Everybody-the-same fair?” El’s smiling a little. “No. I don’t think this is an everybody-the-same-fair kind of thing. I think this is an everybody-happy thing.”

Nanase makes an inarticulate gesture of frustration, both arms moving, and her face briefly gets shadowed by an oni-face illusion.

“You want to do the fucking,” El says. “You don’t like penetration at all, not even tongue. You aren’t strictly into topping; nothing about helpless and surrender gets you off. You do a lot of role-playing with Ellen to set up who has what role, but you don’t want surrender, you want to be able to believe your partner wants to be fucked. And you can’t, because you would hate it so much.”

“Fuck,” Nanase says. And then nothing else for awhile. After a couple of minutes, El reaches over with her left hand and takes Nanase’s right.

“The diamond created Ellen. It created Elliot, too. It’s not like there was a new person and exactly the same old person; it doesn’t work like that. I don’t claim I understand the whole thing but Tedd might and we’ve talked about it a few times.”

“So you’re what?” Nanase mostly doesn’t think about where Ellen came from. If magic straight up created your girlfriend, maybe magic will take your heart away, too. It’s not something Nanase wants to think about.

“Original FV5 was meant to be used on Tedd and only Tedd. It’s officially exploratory stuff. Tedd has big issues with being wanted and intended that anybody would want somebody who’d been FV5’d.”

“Do you believe that?” Nanase doesn’t.

“I don’t think that’s all of it,” El says. “I think Tedd’s mostly androsexual and was trying to figure out how to do something about it that didn’t involve guilt or gayness.”

Nanase nods, once. It seems plausible.

“Original FV5 doesn’t arise from a place of understanding.” El says it dryly; Nanase grins. “Place of understanding” is one of Sensei Greg’s phrases. “I’m pretty sure you think Elliot is a boy and wants to do the fucking.”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Elliot is not a boy, and wants happy lovers. Sometimes that means doing the fucking, sometimes that means specific transforms, sometimes that means getting fucked. It’s like sparring; I want everything friendly and I am terrified of emotional chaos.”

“Emotional chaos?” The idea that sparring must be friendly makes perfect sense to Nanase. Anybody taking it personally or wanting victory is a fight, not sparring.

“Backing Justin into a corner and fellating him could be a lot of fun,” Elliot says. “The emotional chaos afterwards?”

Nanase blinks. Nanase blinks again. The whole notion of fellating anyone is a hard squick for Nanase. Elliot’s basic decency and habitual female transformations hasn’t changed Nanase’s original categorization of Elliot as a good bro; very male, and so het he’ll hug guys because there’s no possibility of confusion.

“Seriously?” Nanase manages to keep most of her incredulity out of her voice.

“FV5 was Tedd’s pre-Grace notion of fuckability,” El says. “Something everybody had to want. Only that meant being fucked, and Tedd’s terrified of that.”

“Admitting he wants male attention?” Nanase is struggling to keep up, but managing. She can feel the start of a my-brain-hurts headache.

“Or risking rejection, or having to act like being wanted is possible, I don’t know,” El says. “The result was building in features to FV5 to make sure getting fucked was physically enjoyable. Getting split by the diamond left those in. I know there’s an MV5 now and it’s just looks, but default-Elliot’s basically the male version of FV5.”

“And you didn’t notice?”

“I was randomly turning female from energy buildups,” El says. “Then I felt weird about Sarah.”

“Your libido increased and that made you think about how you really felt,” Nanase says, suddenly understanding. “You could ignore sex before, but not after.”

El nods.

“And then it took awhile to figure out what you were doing?” Nanase says this hesitantly. More hesitantly than Nanase would be, poking a sleeping lion; she could fly away from the lion.

El nods. “Being girly, gender-casual, figuring out if I could be there for Ashley, regret about Sarah, noticing a lot more people were hot. It took some thinking.”

The awful prospect of Elliot with a _habit_ of introspection dawns on Nanase. Her eyes go wide; El’s head tips and lips part and El’s face goes from supportively kind to curious, but still entirely kind. Something inside Nanase goes _oh god fuck fuck fuck fuck._

El straightens up from her sideways kneel and pulls Nanase into a hug. Nanase goes with it, face-into-sun-screened-cleavage and all. It’s very gentle and completely awkward.

Nanase sits back down, puts her head in her hands. The chuckling fall of water in the river sounds like mockery.

“Getting fucked is how you feel skilled,” Nanase says.

“Can be,” El says, putting a carefully tentative hand on Nanase’s shoulder.

“You’re sure about that?” Nanase has had the insight; that doesn’t mean she likes it.

“I’m sure about that.” El’s smiling. “You don’t want submission. You do want trust and you want to prove you’re skilled.” _To be a goodly liege-lady_ isn’t language El knows, or that Nanase would apply to here-and-now.

Nanase nods.

“You’d hate receiving what you like doing, and Ellen hasn’t managed to convince you she’s not putting up with it.” El’s voice remains gentle; this isn’t accusatory. It’s a problem, but it’s a problem everyone will try to solve.

“Not afterwards,” Nanase says. Ellen always gets a lot of orgasms out of sex. Nanase can’t make the little voice shut up when it points out you can make Ellen orgasm by light nibbling on her earlobes, it’s not an accomplishment.

“Going through specific enjoyment of things isn’t convincing,” El says. “It always gets you in the squick.”

Nanase nods again.

“Losing control isn’t even a question,” El says. “Agency isn’t control. I don’t ever think I have control.”

Nanase just sits there. After about a minute, she says “Fuck” out loud. After another minute, El rearranges herself so she’s sitting down, and sits as close to Nanase as she can with her right arm over Nanase’s shoulders.

“I am so stupid,” Nanase says, to the warm morning, or the sky, or the river-water flowing by.

“My parents are a bit weird,” El says, “but they did really well with the unconditional emotional acceptance part.”

“Whereas I have to be unspecified perfect,” Nanase says. She sounds bitter; she is bitter. She’s loved, and she knows she’s loved, but there are expectations, one of which being that she figure out what the expectations _are_.

“That’s parents,” El says. _Not Ellen, not me_ avoids being said.

Nanase takes a deep breath and sort of stands up; she winds up straddling El, and kissing her with an intensity just short of force.

When the kiss breaks, Nanase has to struggle for composure. El was moaning right into her mouth, which is composure solvent; El has both hands on her ass and is walking them alternately up on to her bare lower back under the sun shirt. It’s an excruciatingly slow process. It’s associated with an emphatic settling wiggle from El, to get Nanase more evenly balanced over her thighs. That’s not good for Nanase’s composure, either.

“Why is that OK?” Nanase closes her eyes. “I’m sure it _is_ OK, but I don’t understand why.”

El drops her elbows, and slides her hands much higher on Nanase’s back to pull in. It brings Nanase’s head down and forces Nanase’s breasts upward; El’s much larger ones are under Nanase’s and trapped from the sides by El’s arms.

El husks “Fuck me more?” into one of Nanase’s ears.

El stops pulling; Nanase shifts back, cognition shut down.

“That’s what I want you to do when you do things like that,” El says. “I don’t get fucked _enough_. Consent’s been established, you haven’t done anything to interrupt it, I know you’ll listen if I object. I’m confident the way this works best is for you to do whatever you want to me. I can trust you to ask for it if you want me to do something specific to you, otherwise it’s tease and nuzzle and lean in.”

“So I’ll do something to you?”

“So you feel encouraged?” El puts a bit of an undulation into it.

Nanase puts her forehead on El’s, and stays there. Needing encouragement isn’t supposed to show.

El slides her hands down, off Nanase’s back and out from under her sun shirt, and takes Nanase’s head very gently in both of them, tipping it back. “You don’t have to be invincible.”

“What good is a vincible princess?” Nanase does her best to smile.

El’s face goes stern. “Lots.” El’s face relaxes back into kindness. “We love you for you, not for winning.”

“Even the me that thinks you’re mine and wants to take you in your sleep to prove it? To not ask?” Nanase knows the answer is _no_ ; she hasn’t even tensed up. The question came out quietly, and you have to listen closely for the despair.

El kisses her, very gently, down the whole length of one side of her jawbone.

El takes Nanase’s face in both hands again, very gently. “Your Highness. Your loyal subject would really like that.”

Nanase looks supremely doubtful. El lets go and kisses down the other side of her jaw.

“You’d probably win a fight,” El says, “and you’re probably thinking of it like that, and I wish you’d stop.”

Nanase takes a breath, lets it out. “I don’t get it.”

“I’ve got boundaries?” El doesn’t think this is really a question.

“You’ve got boundaries.” Nanase doesn’t think it’s a question, either.

“Where are you with respect to the boundary?”

“I…I can’t tell you to dump Ashley.”

El nods. El’s hands are back on Nanase’s hips. Nanase has a moment of wondering if she ought to move, remembers El could pick her up with one arm while seated, and stops worrying about the distraction.

“I can’t tell you not to talk to Ellen about me, or anything.”

El nods again.

“Everything else is politeness?” Nanase doesn’t believe this.

“And context,” El says. “If you try as hard to hit me as you do sparring any other time,” and El trails off. Nanase smiles back, and touches her forehead to El’s.

“That’s really it?” Nanase doesn’t find this easy to believe.

“Mom and Dad aren’t optional,” El says, “But they want me to be happy. They’re not judgy about how. So that really is it.” El inhales. “I have to be real careful about _who_. You’re a literal part-time angel.”

“Who wants to get you and Ellen matching mine-all-mine tattoos and I know that’s bad luck and I know I shouldn’t and” El kisses Nanase.

“How would you feel about a little stacking transform?” El’s got her head a bit tilted. “It’d avoid the bad luck.”

Nanase’s cognition goes away again. Temporary transformations could be _extensive_ , half-torso or whole inside thighs; temporary transformations don’t hurt or stretch, so detailed flower wreathes around aureolas become plausible. They’re not permanent on the person, but the wand would be. You could always get the exact pattern back. You could use colours ink can’t do.

Nanase refocuses when El kisses the corner of her mouth and whispers “You might be drooling.”

Nanase gets up and offers El a hand. El takes it and stands up.

They start walking. The path is supposed to cross a bridge, and loop around, so they keep going how they were.

A few minutes of strolling later, Nanase says “Just as mechanics,” and then stops.

“People are different,” El says. “Say what you mean, no kink-shaming, no comparing to normal.”

“OK,” Nanase says. Nanase takes El’s hand, because that way she can stop thinking about taking El’s hand.

“You know how Grace is Tedd-sexual?” It’s a rhetorical question.

“Sure,” Nanase says.

“I’m kinda happy-sexual; is this fun, is everybody feeling enthusiasm, like that.”

Nanase nods.

“Combine being happy-sexual with being gender-casual and orientation doesn’t come into it. Trust comes into it; there’s secrets, there’s being really pretty bad at emotional boundaries. I care a lot about both of those, and you know all the secrets and you’re saying ‘are you sure?’ when I’m saying ‘fuck me’.”

Nanase squeezes El’s hand, lightly. “Not trying to be frustrating.”

“Horny,” El says, “but not yet frustrated.”

Nanase smiles, and they stop because the path turns here for the bridge, and they both want to read the sign and make sure it’s the bridge they think it is over the little river. It is; this where they turn, and they cross the bridge.

“Having appropriate stuff inside me feels good,” El says. “I like it, and all the FV5 stuff makes it easy.” El looks across at Nanase. “All that stuff you want to do, I like.”

“When you say easy,” Nanase says. “The toys seem…” Nanase trails off, stuck between “too big” and “impractical” and “dangerous”.

“Condom over a litre pop bottle fits fine,” El says. “Feels good.” There’s a careful shrug; El doesn’t want to let go of Nanase’s hand. “Default Elliot.” _Rather than this form, which is half way to doubled FV5_ doesn’t get said out loud. It doesn’t have to be.

“Butt stuff?” Nanase is so shocked she sounds calm.

“I was curious.” El’s grinning. “It was fun.”

* * *

El and Nanase had got burgers, and then ice cream, before wandering back into the hotel. The burgers weren’t up to Le Petit Trianon standards, but then again Nanase is sure she’s never had any other food that is. The little corner burger joint was much better than a chain; homemade pickles and the buns were from the bakery next door.

Ice cream had involved sitting on the same bench and holding hands. Nanase’s brain isn’t working for any social purpose. El recognizes the signs and doesn’t say anything.

Back in their room, Nanase looks at her phone, sighs, and says “I need to go call the garage and my mom.”

El gives Nanase a slow hug and doesn’t say anything. Nanase goes out of the room a little less tense. There are private communication rooms off the lobby; small, with comfortable chairs and soundproofing and red lights to indicate occupancy.

El takes her dress off and stretches out on the couch. There was a “text me?” message from Ashley during lunch.

E: How you doing?

A: Not bad! A: why do you think the Tedd Rule is unnecessary?

E: it’s for surprise. E: you know that person at the pool who drove you crazy, one toe in, pacing around, etc.? took like ten minutes to get in the water?

A: yes?

E: Tedd with emotional risks. E: Tedd decides to kiss me, there’ll be four hypothetical discussions

A: four?

E: you, me, Grace, each, then everybody E: and then maybe some intimation that it’s not a hypothetical

A: Do you want to smooch Tedd?

E: Tedd’d have to have decided E: no ambivalent smooching

A: if Tedd has decided?

E: yeah. Unless you change your mind about being OK with it.

A: Nanase?

E: Nanase says good things should happen to Tedd.

A: should I worry about this getting out of hand?

E: Tedd does not have dibs. Tedd’s Tedd, but you aren’t disposable or lesser. I love you.

A: Snuffly. A: Love you

There’s a pause. El doesn’t feel compelled to message anything, being a bit snuffly herself.

A: got sexy-times transform listing catalog thing from Grace. A: How pervy is too pervy?

E: Actual, I am into this weird but not-harmful thing, pervy?

A: Transformation changes what’s harmful.

E: Sure. We’ve got transformation, you can use it. Nanase kinda wants to tattoo her loyal subjects and for real? hell no. Temporary transforms? Sounds fun.

A: emotionally real?

E: unambiguous mutual obligation. No ownership, no control.

A: am I eligible?

E: up to you and Nanase. Contented Ashley is best Ashley.

A: so reliable, fun mistress, stern mistress?

E: workout partner mistress?

A: I’d have to cheat to keep up

E: you’re a wizard, transformation isn’t cheating

A: in general?

E: in general. You thinking specific?

A: more stamina would be nice. lots of pervy things

E: what kind of pervy are you worried about? E: I mean, there’s yay!, meh, not-my-kink, squick E: years of Tedd = don’t keep lists

A: digitigrade? tongue mods? surprises?

E: so you can walk on your toes?

A: every ballet student in the world A; also kinky leather boots

E: to go with the really goth outfit?

A: yeah. And maybe transformed piercings?

E: you’re you. E: goth, boots = yay! E: piercings = it depends, yay through NMK

A: what’s NMK?

E: issues with nose piercings. E: or if it looks like it hurts.

A: nipples? tongue?

E: if you really want to! E: it… does it look fun? style? not explaining well… E: does it spark joy?

A: intrinsic vs extrinsic motivations?

E: yeah! dunno how something looks intrinsic but only yay! if it does

A: pointy ears?

E: sure! mobile, too.

A: do you need to know ahead of time? Can I show up and have you find things when you undress me?

E: most things? E: if you can’t talk or the tongue mod’s a foot long maybe warn me?

A: bifurcated grasping tongue for A: tweaking?

E: sounds fun? E: no octopus suckers.

A: ?

E: bone hooks. the real ones. tentacle hair looks threatening.

A: I’ll remember. A: question on fun?

E: never tried it. haven’t thought about it. curious now.

A: :) A: wish you were here. VERY horny. A: Want to go pounce on Ellen. A: Good. Not same.

E: Wish I was there. E: Go pounce on Ellen.

* * *

Nanase comes back quietly; the door goes click and Nanase strides into their hotel room. She slows down and stops; El has sat up and stretched.

“Hi.” El’s smiling and getting up and walking toward Nanase.

“For the first time in my life,” Nanase says, “Mother told me not to worry.”

El says “hmm” in a warm and welcoming way and hugs Nanase. It’s exactly the wrong thing for Nanase’s composure; there’s no hesitation or boundaries in it at all.

Nanase returns it; Nanase’s brain isn’t fast enough to catch her reflexes, or the increase in her heart rate, and the hug feels so good. El feels so good.

Nanase manages to pull back, a little, not letting go with her hands and not getting completely out of contact, but there’s mostly space between them. “You’re naked.”

Nearly. El’s in a micro-bikini bottom. The loose ends of the ties trail a long way down the smooth muscle of El’s thighs.

“I should have let you undo the dress?” El’s grinning. Nanase _wants_ to undo the sun dresses. It makes her hands twitch. It’s embarrassing. El would let her do it. El would let her do it on the sidewalk, and smile hopefully, and arch just like she’s arching now, drastically overbuilt and eager and made out of _yes_.

“Elliot Jane.” It comes out in a voice half teasing and half stern. Nanase hears herself say this as though from a great distance and thinks _I’m doomed. I am completely doomed._

El kisses her, delicately and earnestly and with complete surrender.

Nanase’s eyes close, involuntarily. Whatever sense of emotional control she might have had feels like it’s dissolving.

“Think you can wiggle into the strap-on?” gets husked into Nanase’s ear. There’s a tiny liquid kiss just under her earlobe, and then a slow trail down her neck. “Big toy.”

El’s undoing Nanase’s skirt.

“Right back” comes out half-strangled, but Nanase does manage to say it. El lets go. Nanase vanishes into the dressing room. Getting the toy into the harness is easy; the simple smooth backplate has to go on after the large blue dildo. It should be easy, and it takes four deep breaths and willed concentration.

Nanase gets the thing on, smears lube on the tip, and remembers the spell. It’ll connect the toy to Nanase. It’s a new spell, it should take some thinking, and it just happens.

Nanase walks back out, repeatedly aware of the toy bouncing slightly with every stride. The sensation’s extensive and strange and Nanase doesn’t process it.

El’s sitting up on the couch, and grinning; the bikini bottom is draped over the couch-back. It’s almost the same colour of pale as the massage cover.

Nanase keeps walking; El’s making inviting arm motions, and Nanase gets close enough for El to put her hands on Nanase’s hips. Nanase was not expecting El to take the tip of the toy into her mouth, or for it to feel that intense. There’s a pop as El’s mouth slides off while El’s maintaining suction. Nanase shakes as El licks up one side of the toy, then the other, and then El’s pulling her forward with the whole length sliding down El’s throat. Nanase comes. There’s almost no buildup; it’s about to happen then it happens and keeps happening. Nanase’s knees buckle. She winds up holding half on to the couch back and half on to El with, really, El holding her up. Then turned around and set down along the couch and then El slides her mouth back, releasing the toy.

Nanase can feel the heat in her face; she can taste a remnant of the supposedly flavourless lube as El kisses her, smug and earnestly horny.

“That’s a good spell.” El approves completely.

Nanase nods. She’s getting less shaky. “Didn’t expect that.”

“Most of your clit doesn’t show,” El says. “There’s the nub that does but most of it’s buried in other tissue. Betcha the spell connects the whole thing to the toy.”

Nanase nods. El vanishes into the bathroom, comes back and slides under Nanase’s lower legs. Nanase can’t manage to help El; she can feel her body, but it’s not listening to her at all. El’s got some of the complimentary skin cream and starts rubbing Nanase’s feet. It’s gentle, it’s only just not desultory, and El’s leaning forward a bit. There’s a lot of incidental boob contact. Nanase relaxes just enough to realize she’s still wearing the toy. It’s still a little damp and she can feel it drying. It’s wiggling a little from El moving on the couch, and Nanase is still horny. She might be more horny as she gets more conscious.

The spell allows Nanase to control intensity, how much of sensation gets delivered to her actual nerves. It casts at full intensity if Nanase doesn’t think about it, and she didn’t. After a struggle for enough concentration, Nanase gets it down to half, then two-fifths. Two-fifths seems relatively safe.

“Ready?” El’s looking like a collision between patient and hopeful.

“Ready,” Nanase says. She’s not sure where that much enthusiasm came from. She’s not against it, but feels like maybe she could have been consulted before whatever made her voice sound so eager happened.

El wiggles out from under Nanase’s feet and throws the second massage cover over the largest hassock, the one that’s knee high and two feet by four. She lies on top of it, on her back, quite naked, and making inviting arm gestures. Nanase winds up in almost a push-up position over her, arms extended, hands beside and above El’s shoulders. _El’s warm_ is what Nanase thinks, but El’s hot; Nanase can feel it all up the length of herself. El wiggles up a little; Nanase isn’t sure what to do when El reaches down and adjusts the toy before raising her hips and then her legs and putting her feet on Nanase’s ass.

The toy’s definitely going in. El’s shuddering and blissful, gleeful and greedy.

“Worry about your timing, not mine” El says into Nanase’s ear as Nanase’s head droops and the sensation peaks with the toy all the way in and Nanase pressing against El. “Take as long as you want and make yourself come really hard,” El says, legs wrapping around Nanase’s ass.

* * *

E: No dinner at Ashley’s!

N: yay! N: maybe yay?

E: yay! E: Ashley’s mom decided it wasn’t fair. Everybody invited next week.

N: not yay.

E: way better than just me! Maybe Mom, too. Sounds like Observation of Influences.

N: no yay. N: not very yay here.

E: ?

N: fallen in love with Elliot. N: have to work at not saying “El”. Called her “Elliot Jane” without thinking. N: not sure I believe boy-Elliot’s real anymore

E: YAY!

N: yay?

E: who do I need?

N: in general?

E: tomorrow, next day, day after that…

N: me and … Elliot N: did you set this up?

E: nothing to do with the car trouble. Hoped one night away would go well, maybe’d you want to keep doing it.

N: She is so girly. It’s

E: pushing unexpected buttons?

N: unfair? small difference. large arousal.

E: yay!

N: ???

E: lots of people want you to fuck them. The less confused you are about that, the better for everybody.

N: have you been enjoying sex?

E: lots lots lots. E: would I like you to worry about that much less? yes. E: would I like you to admit you want things, just because? yes. E: would I like you to get comfy with my role in the relationship? hell yes.

N: role?

E: I love you. I love you a lot. You need someone you can’t break by accident.

N: true. Love you.

E: the “not break” includes “fuck vigorously”. no ritual context, no “perhaps Ellen’s pupils are that size for some other reason”, no rationalizations that good girls don’t.

N: awkward? emotionally resistant awkward?

E: I have agency. I have a brain. Still a sex toy.

N: I kinda hate that.

E: Not different from hating me.

N: yes it is. N: you’re not _despite_ , I love you, all of you. that, too. N: but I hate that you never got asked and I hate that you can’t not and I hate that somebody else’s insecurities got to define my girlfriend.

E: Nanase… I don’t have those insecurities. Pretty good design. No trouble saying no. You love me, Elliot loves me, my parents. E: Never been anything else. I remember not being, but haven’t been. E: It’s an enjoyable life. I can change my defaults. I want to be a better sex toy.

N: Ashley helping with that?

E: A’s inventive.

N: I’m not being swapped?

E: You are NOT being swapped. E: maybe afflicted with unauthorized loyal subject recruiting

N: she’s cute. N: why do you think I need three sex toys?

E: you need to win.

N: you’re a win!

E: I’m a partner win. E: I’m not a recognition of authority win. E: I’m not a pretty-girl win

N: you and El look exactly the same!

E: would I have bought that hat?

N: -sigh- ok, no, not the hat.

E: it’s behavioural. E: I approve of you being handsy with me E: wouldn’t have bought those sun dresses E: might wear one

N: so lesbian success requires somebody femme?

E: looks like? E: you need tough to feel safe; that your mistakes will be forgivable E: you need pretty for something

N: when we’re together, El is mine N: fuck

E: you ought to. :) E: you’re really into clear mutual obligations E: you know better than to make your core relationship an obligation

N: why do you keep coming up with reasons I’m sensible?

E: you keep saving my life?

N: I love you so much.

E: Love you whole E: I can’t be reliable AND pretty. If I recognized authority I’d be pretending. Maybe enough pretending, but pretending.

N: Fox in a maid outfit works way better than you in a maid outfit.

E: :)

N: you think I deserve this?

E: I deserve this. You’re happy, I’m happy, Elliot’s happy, Ashley’s likely happy.

N: likely?

E: A’s delirious from not being weird. Plus enough sex. I think it’ll work out but ask me next year. Butterfly’s not all out of her chrysalis.

E: also, you deserve this, Your Highness.

N: that’s all serious

E: every bit

N: even the El-passes-out parts?

E: why not?

N: it’s selfish? wrong?

E: why’d El pass out?

N: strap-on and telling me to just worry about my own timing

E: so you fucked her silly

N: should have noticed

E: did El stop making happy noises before you stopped?

N: No, and some after, but, still.

E: Angel, there are MANY nerve endings up there. Extra nerve endings. Dense ones. Enthusiastic. Mostly tied to feeling full or stretched or resistance on the extra muscles. Deep penetration makes me come. Orgasms take time. The next penetration sensation causes another orgasm before the previous one’s stopped.

N: you do that?

E: First three or four. Then I lose timing with the toy.

N: Half an hour?

E: Ooh, wow. E: Gonna time you.

N: El’s still out.

E: smiling?

N: smug? kinda sprawly. N: looks happy.

E: well, yeah. Coming _enough_

N: going to have to make the emotional adjustment. N: going to have to do this with you.

E: yes you are. :)

* * *

Nanase had set her phone down and thought about towels or moving massage covers and instead picked a blissful, marginally conscious El up and carried her into the shower. El had murmured and rolled her head in of Nanase’s shoulder and licked Nanase’s neck.

Clean, they’d fallen into bed and asleep. It had taken some time once they woke up for hunger to overcome the impulse for just one more kiss. Nanase has to work at not feeling smug; El is always cuddly, but not like this. It feels like there’s no boundary at all; when Nanase makes herself sit up and then get up on her knees, to get out of bed and order food, El tips her chin up and stretches both arms up for another embrace and Nanase runs the ball of one thumb over the tip of El’s nipple. El grins and rolls into the pressure.

El doesn’t melt; El wiggles, El’s blazingly happy, but it’s the only time Nanase can remember El or Ellen being any degree of sexually relaxed. The thought that this really might be what satiation looks like for someone whose baseline form got created from an FV5 transform tiptoes into Nanase’s awareness, and she feels skilled and smug and gleeful.

Also hungry. Not intolerably hungry, not searching for an energy bar hungry, but it will be soon.

“Food?” Nanase tries not to look abashed.

“Food,” El agrees, and collapses out of her stretch.

By the time they’re vaguely presentable in bathrobes and the sustenance has arrived it’s nine at night and Nanase is contemplating gnawing on a bedpost.

It’s all comfort food, warming and substantial. What the person with the cart says are dauphinoise potatoes, looking a bit like baked mac and cheese, a wooden platter of cured meat, a basket of warm biscotte wrapped in several linen napkins, four squash custard tartlets, covered, insulated mugs of hot chocolate, and a plate of substantial shortbread squares. The shortbread has an orange glaze. There’s a big jug of ice water. There’s a chilled bottle of dealcoholized red wine.

Nanase has some doubts about the quantity; the squash tartlets weigh half a pound each. It’s a lot. Dinner goes away remarkably quickly, all the same. The person who comes to collect the dishes drops off another two massage covers in the least judgemental way imaginable.

“That was really good.” Nanase is a little surprised. She’s sure it’s comfort food for somebody, but she wouldn’t bet either of her parents knows what dauphinoise potatoes are. Her dad might, but there’s more than one cuisine in France and Nanase has certainly never had them before. She’s not sure about the cured meat to original species, and if you’d asked about squash custard anything when she wasn’t so hungry she’d have tried to avoid it. After the first bite, it was hard to use a fork instead of picking the whole thing up.

“It was,” El says. El has gone right on looking relaxed and contented and just _pleased_ right through her bones. Thinking _I did that_ does something to Nanase. It’s slow and heavy and Nanase has no idea what to call it.

“Was,” and Nanase starts over, “was that enough?”

“That was lots,” El says. “Thank you very much.”

“I was afraid I’d gotten selfish.”

El giggles. Nanase looks shocked. El steps closer, puts one hand on the back of Nanase’s head, and kisses her. It’s gentle and thorough and completely wholehearted. Nanase’s knees wobble.

El lets go. “It was wonderful.”

El’s pupils are a bit too large for the light in the room. Nanase turns her head sharply away.

“Not staying relaxed?” Nanase doesn’t manage to say this without a catch in her voice.

“Based on watching you lick hot chocolate off your upper lip,” El says, “satiation doesn’t last.” El didn’t expect it to. El’s still completely happy.

Nanase sort of nods, and finds she’s hugging El, who has moved forward to embracer her. Something about the pattern of pressure has Nanase thinking _this is mine_ and getting flustered.

“I’m tired, you’re tired, dinner was a lot. What I would like,” El says, “is for us to get to bed. When you wake up horny in the middle of the night, if you get up and get the toy and wake me up by fucking me again, not asking if you can, by sliding the toy in like I really am all yours, I’m going to be even happier.”

“Seriously?”

El nods, emphatic. “It has occurred to you that if someone likes you going ‘this one is mine’, they’ll like you acting like you believe it?”

“Bwuh,” is about all Nanase manages to say.

El pulls the comforter and the top sheet off the bed, sets the pillows on a hassock, and throws one of the new massage covers over it. This bed is obviously what both the elastic corners and the corner ties on the massage cover are meant to fit; Nanase recovers enough to tie the last corner to a bedpost. Pillows, sheet, and comforter back on, you wouldn’t know anything had changed.

 _So why have I got this noise in my ears?_ Nanase thinks.

El isn’t subtle about putting on stockings before going to bed; cream-coloured, with a bit of lace at the top. The tide of blonde hair goes back in a ponytail, the simplest Nanase has seen El wear it. El doesn’t wear anything else. El crawls up the bed in a deliberately immodest way.

“You mean it,” comes out husked. Nanase is sleepy; emotions and sex and a lot of dinner. The question won’t let her sleep, even as she tucks herself in next to El and flips just the sheet up.

“I mean it,” El says, kissing her.


	10. Thursday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nanase discovers the feels are winning.
> 
> Ashley discovers that these feels are possibly reliable. Liz continues to worry.

### Thursday

There’s no bedside digital clock in Room Thalia of Le Petit Trianon. The main curtains are thoroughly effective; when Nanase wakes up, the room is as dark as a cave.

There’s no physical difficulty in letting go of El, or of padding into the bathroom. Nanase doesn’t think of it as being able to see in the dark, or unusual; she’s never not been able to do it. Her whole family do the same thing. And maybe it isn’t seeing, precisely, but Nanase doesn’t bump into anything going around the four poster bed on the way to the bathroom.

The bathroom door slides closed quietly; there’s a small light on each vanity. Turning one light on doesn’t make Nanase blink too much. She’s stopped being physically tired; she’s not sore anywhere. Her whole-body ache is nagging, but not physical.

Nanase drinks some water. Nanase puts the harness back on with the same toy as last time. Nanase doesn’t let herself think about what she’s doing or why she’s so happy or what any impulse to caution she might possess would say. She sets the spell at a careful quarter throughput this time. Smearing lube on the toy’s noticeable; Nanase produces a sharp inhale and turns the light off.

The bathroom door slides open silently; Nanase walks over to the four-poster. El’s sleeping close to bathroom side of the four-poster mostly because Nanase was clinging to her from the other, room-door, side. It induced directional bias.

It’s warm in the room; the comforter is down at foot level, and the sheet’s slid down to El’s waist. Nanase slides the sheet down to the comforter and then slides both clear of El’s feet.

El’s on her left side, head on left arm, right arm bent and up with her right hand on left forearm.

Nanase crouches down; El’s tits are almost to the edge of the bed. More than close enough to let Nanase lean in and run her tongue over where El’s left, lower nipple’s inverted, to run her tongue back over and around before leaning in and sucking firmly until the whole slides out into her mouth, to carefully curl her lips in over the line of her teeth and squeeze down.

El’s moan is faint and unconscious, but it’s there. _Just gave her better dreams_ Nanase thinks, sliding her lips slowly off the engorged nipple and reaching with her tongue for the still-inverted one. Nanase wiggles her tongue inward, not too firmly, before sucking again. El moans a little louder as her right nipple everts, pulled into the pressure of Nanase’s tongue.

Sliding a hand up a stockinged thigh from knee to sacrum with a little extra firmness over the curve of El’s ass shifts El from lying on her side to her front. The nestling her head into crossed arms and wiggling a little inward on the bed are unconscious. El winds up still completely limp and entirely asleep.

Nanase moves up on to the bed, nudging El’s knees apart with her own, then picking each of El’s legs up in turn and setting them wider apart. El doesn’t stir. Lining the toy up is easy; Nanase slides the tip of it up and down inside El’s labia and bites her lip to keep from moaning. The lube on the toy isn’t the only slickness involved, El’s still asleep, and the irrational _always wants me_ gets into Nanase’s mind and won’t loosen its grip. Pushing in is easy, and slow; it feels like it takes a whole minute before the toy is the all way in and Nanase’s elbows are bent down to the bed. She can feel El shudder with the slow sliding orgasm from half way in on down. She’s gone entirely lightheaded herself with how El went more relaxed and welcoming as she woke up.

El, muzzy and smiling, twists her head around and can’t quite kiss Nanase, so she sucks on Nanase’s earlobe instead. Letting go, El says “Put your legs on the outside.”

It’s only a little awkward; Nanase leans to one side and then the other and El swings her own legs in.

It changes the angle; it puts Nanase more firmly up against El’s ass, it makes it awkward for Nanase to keep supporting herself above El, whose back is arched up over her breasts. Nanase leans up on her elbows and rubs her hands together, getting lube on both of them, slides her hands up under El until she’s got a grip on both of El’s tits and fingers on both sides of El’s nipples.

El makes a contented murmuring noise, and wiggles. Nanase can feel the inside of El’s pussy squeezing on the toy, and her breath catches.

El puts her arms forward, hands reaching the headboard, lying down limp and relaxed. She turns her head and purrs while Nanase drags kisses over her cheekbone and down her jaw.

El twists her head up; it’s still pitch dark, and there’s guessing about where Nanase’s ears are, a quick snatched kiss. “Ride me hard?” El says, gleeful and hopeful and certain.

Nanase slides the toy almost all the way out, against the resistance of El clenching down on it, and in, against no resistance whatsoever. “Mine” comes out low and throaty into El’s ear as El shudders under Nanase.

“All mine,” Nanase says in a voice for certainty and forever as she starts sliding the toy out again.

* * *

It’s six AM again. Liz is better prepared; her coffee is in a large reusable mug. She’s moving steadily forward. She can’t slam the cup, but she can slam the last two swallows of coffee as she gets to the storage shed. She can have carefully picked a route that doesn’t go past Ashley’s house.

The other edge of the park has joggers, because of course it does. One of them is Ashley, zipping along.

Liz knows Ashley’s been sad. Liz knows Ashley has trouble making friends, with not being weird, with a lot of social things. Liz is still pissed about Ashley getting pulled into elfland.

* * *

“Garage says we get the car back noon tomorrow.” Nanase doesn’t notice saying _we_ instead of _I_ ; past-Nanase would have to do something drastic to get present-Nanase to notice. Present-Nanase is having trouble setting her phone down. Sleepy El has started nibbling up the line of Nanase’s spine. It’s almost like biting; no teeth, no sucking, but it’s finding all the nerve endings. The relaxation ones make Nanase want to collapse and the other sensations are sending messages to the effect that in another couple of minutes, Nanase will let El do anything at all.

Nanase smirks to herself, thinking _even fist me?_ and stops smirking. Nanase likes fisting Ellen, it’s customary, it’s intense enough to satiate Ellen and the trust and helplessness and implausibility involved do things to Nanase. It comes as close as anything to doing all the things, especially after Ellen’s limply, quiveringly post-verbal and doesn’t want Nanase to stop.

It works on El, or it did their first night here; there’ve been new toys and new spells and Nanase’s tangled feelings since. Nanase’s current feelings haven’t heard of tangled. Nanase is having trouble remembering why her feelings were tangled. It seems unlikely and implausible. Penetration’s still a hard squick, Nanase remains much more inclined to be the active party, and here she is melting into the massage cover over the bed because El’s nibbling on her back and the only thing her will can find to latch on to is _please more_.

Nanase makes no decision to roll on to her back when El’s mouth starts tracking over the curve of her hipbone; Nanase isn’t sure it’s even her body deciding, it just happens. El’s breasts drag over the top of her thigh, nipples everted and engorged and a definite distinct sensation in the midst of a soft sense of sliding mass. Moving her legs up and apart isn’t a decision either, Nanase doesn’t even look down at El, she just makes sure she’s got a pillow under her head and lets the back-arch happen.

* * *

“If I slip up and call you Mistress because I’m panicking, can you not?”

“Sure.” Ellen’s tipped her head up to look at Ashley, and can’t see much facial expression. “Roll in?”

Stop being the little spoon, Ellen means; roll over so they’re facing one another. It’s not a large bed, but large enough.

“Am I your girlfriend?” Ashley’s eyes are closed. Ashley’s obviously breathing evenly by conscious intent.

“You’re my lover,” Ellen says. “You’re my lover in front of other people, you’re my lover in front of Nanase. You’re my lover in front of my mom. Nanase has dibs on my future. Please try not to turn into my sister-in-law.”

“Mom?” It’s nearly a squeak.

“We don’t trouble Mom with details, we don’t hide stuff, Mom doesn’t care about anything except avoiding harm,” Ellen says. “That’s always been the parenting deal.”

Ashley’s not having the best breathing moment.

“That’s not an expectation about your mom, or anybody.” Ellen’s voice is gentle. “But I won’t lie to my mom for anything.”

Ashley nods, a little jerkily.

“Sister-in-law?”

“That’d make it weird to smooch you,” Ellen says, one hand sliding firmly into the small of Ashley’s back to at least imply some squishing. “I like smooching you. I like being your lover. Don’t want to stop.”

Ashley does a careful, slow-motion glomp of Ellen; it feels, with their faces level and lying down, oddly misaligned. Ellen says “Face in boobs is fine” and Ashley wiggles downward. Ellen pets her hair, and murmurs, and after a little while tips her head to say “Good girl” as directly toward Ashley’s ear as she can manage.

Ashley relaxes. Ashley stays relaxed for awhile, then Ashley wiggles in, before she rolls outward to be flat on her back, one arm still trapped under Ellen. Ellen lifts her own head up on a hand.

“You’re not trying to do primary-secondary?” Ashley says this to the ceiling.

Ellen says “No. I can’t unilaterally oblige Nanase or Elliot. I can say you’re my lover; I want that, I want that to keep going. What happens collectively has to be collectively decided.”

Ashley nods, stops, visibly thinks _fuck it_ and nuzzles. Ellen kisses the top of her head.

“It’s a mess. Nanase isn’t all that territorial for an adolescent witch-angel, I don’t mean that there’s an objection or something. There’s at least curiosity.”

“Not what she’s into.” Ashley mostly doesn’t sound resigned.

“You kinda like doing what you’re told,” Ellen says in an abstract voice with no judgement. “Recognition of authority is something Nanase likes.”

“Oldest sister?” Ashley’s voice has gone speculative.

Ellen says “Much older, and yes.”

“Not into pain?”

“Nope,” Ellen says, grinning. “Reducing people to post-orgasmic puddles, yes, pain, no.”

Ashley makes a faint muffled sort of noise and hugs Ellen. Ellen hugs her back.

Ashley sighs, and lets go, and wiggles back up the bed so their faces are level again. “You are absolutely the best,” Ashley says. Ellen produces a goofy smile and smooches Ashley lightly.

“I asked Elliot for an explanation of magic and now I think I have to ask you or Elliot or both for an explanation of the history.”

“Personal, sure,” Ellen says. “But remember we don’t know what happened with Tedd’s parents or even our parents. Something did, and no one is talking.”

“Did something happen with you?” Ashley’s honestly worried.

“Other than being created by accident?” Ellen’s a little tiny bit bittersweet. “I got created by accident, and a soul transplant that involved experiencing an entire childhood in another universe, and really lucked out because my family went hey, our kid replicated! and loved me. Nanase loves me. That’s the easy part.”

“Easy part?”

“Tedd’s mom didn’t love Tedd,” Ellen says. “Tedd’s dad tries and does love Tedd but I think wouldn’t have showed it effectively even without his job or whatever happened. Tedd doesn’t believe they’re loved and wants to believe it and can’t risk finding out that the people who seem to don’t. Grace got created to be a weapon and it didn’t work as planned. I can’t tell if Grace’s actually saintly or just represses stuff really well.”

Ashley makes a sympathetic noise.

“Elliot decided to protect Tedd when they were kids. And then they were emotionally incompetent and now that Elliot’s getting emotionally competent, Tedd can’t take risks.”

“Is there” and Ashley stops.

“I think it’s like an egg,” Ellen says. “You don’t pry an egg open to see if it’s going to hatch, you’ve just got to wait.”

“Seeing Grace as a worried hen now,” Ashley says. It’s not a willed vision. Making it go away shows in Ashley’s face.

“Don’t know if Grace can do feathers.” Ellen kisses Ashley’s forehead. “I don’t know if Tedd is going to blow up all Elliot’s other relationships. I don’t think so, I don’t think there’s going to be a coping failure, but.”

“The future is a surprise.” Ashley’s repeating one of her mother’s phrases. Ashley believes it.

“Mostly,” Ellen says.

“Mostly?”

“This,” Ellen sort of waves down the length of herself, “is what I’m planning on looking like.” Ellen’s stayed in the bedroom form the whole time. Ashley hasn’t asked why. Ellen will go outside, it’s not meant to be secret.

Ashley blinks, and inhales, and lets it out slowly.

“Shapeshifters. I keep forgetting you’re really shapeshifters, all this transformation this and form that.” Ashley has a moment of remembering Liz’s one ill-considered remark about being stolen away.

“You’re a wizard,” Ellen says. “You can figure out how to do it.”

Ashley nods. “Eventually,” Ashley says. Kevin the instructional wand stays at home. Kevin can sleep, there’s a phrase to wake Kevin, Ashley’s been doing the reading. Ashley’s trying not to be intimidated and telling herself Elliot and Ellen and their friends haven’t had that much more time, she’ll catch up. It’s not easy to believe.

“There’s time,” Ellen says, squishing Ashley a little. “I don’t think Nanase’s tastes are going to change, I think the dragon influence likes being robust, I might as well fill out in a controlled way.” Ellen’s grinning. It took time and patience to get Nanase to admit to what she liked. Ellen takes the congruency as a good sign. Ellen had been worried about Nanase liking Ellen’s odd green post-dragon eye colour. It doesn’t quite look like people.

Nanase had said emphatic positive things about it when she wasn’t kissing Ellen for half an hour once she figured out what Ellen’s worry was.

“Are yours?” Ashley has to think about saying this more than once to get herself to actually say it out loud.

“My tastes?” Ellen’s almost certain that’s what Ashley means.

Ashley says “Yes”.

“They’ll mature, maybe,” Ellen says. “I think they have to. You’re reliably hot. I am sure Elliot thinks so.”

“You think so?”

“I think so,” Ellen says, smiling. “Thought so before you did such a thorough job of proving it.”

* * *

The pleasant person who brought lunch — fresh bread, smoked meat, cheese, and pickles — inquired as to whether or not Madelles were aware of the dining room?

Nanase had attempted to explain that they had not brought any formal clothes, or even semi-formal; they had mean to make an overnight of it. The dining room, at least by glimpses down a hallway, doesn’t seem like the sort of place you could wear a jean skirt into, or a sleeveless blouse.

A common misconception among first time guests, they are told; Le Petit Trianon serves dinner _en famille_ , which by custom and tradition means you can wear your pyjamas or evening wear. And if the pyjamas do not fit, Madelles surely should mention while this might be corrected!

The pyjamas do fit. An expectation of a certain amount of preparation has them requesting the eight o’clock seating.

Some of it’s emotional; it turns out being publicly formally lesbian gives Nanase nerves. El hugs her. El doesn’t have the nerves because El’s mother will ask about the food and whether they had fun.

Putting makeup on is something El almost knows how to do, but doesn’t regularly practice. It takes time even for basic mascara. The time has to come after dealing with her hair; there’s a lot of it, it takes time to brush out and braid in four plaits and pin up, coiled on top of her head.

The pyjamas from Le Petit Trianon support several choices of outfit, and it’s still late June and still warm. Nanase is physically comfortable effectively naked down to much cooler temperatures if she’s moving; sitting still is different, but how much different? There’s some guessing.

Nanase goes with the sleeveless top over the sheer pants. The top comes down past mid-thigh. The pants are loose but not voluminous. It looks a little odd, like Nanase’s legs have acquired their own cloud of smoke, but it works. It works in a way that doesn’t rely on nearly anything working once you put it on Nanase.

El goes with the pants, simple and opaque and miraculously well-fitting. They’re the best-fitting pair of pants El has ever had that weren’t transformed with her. Nanase doesn’t say anything about El, topless, trying to look over her shoulder to check how the pants drape over her butt, or various poses in front of the mirrored doors of the closets. El goes with the sheer top; it’s a simple band, slightly elastic, that closes with hooks with a rectangular length of sheer fabric descending from the band.

The garment is meant to go with the hooks at the back, and provide some fabric behind a descending neckline. El puts it on the other way around, hooks at the front. El doesn’t put anything over it. The rectangle is technically long enough for strict modesty. The fabric isn’t even technically opaque, leaving modesty uninvited to dine.

Nanase thinks the blue shimmer is glorious. Nanase can’t reasonably imagine anyone going outside dressed like that. Then Nanase realizes the dining room isn’t, technically, outside. El smiles at her; not grins, it’s not a smirk, it’s an entire smile with all of El in it.

“Really?” Nanase says, carefully, carefully not thinking about implications.

“Sure,” El says. “I’ll take the wrap, in case.”

The slippers have cloth uppers in a subtle brocade; the soles are something maybe five millimetres thick. They’re astonishingly comfortable and they’re weirdly grippy on the stone floor. Nanase and El are both wondering if they can get plainer ones as martial arts shoes.

Then they get to the dining room. The maître d’hôtel takes no notice of El’s choice of dress; shifting them them to their expected table with imperturbable efficiency is a task given to a waiter. Nanase holds El’s chair. Nanase sits down and starts to notice her surroundings.

Nanase has no idea what the furniture style is; it’s formal and old-looking and that’s about as well as she can do. Etruscan-inspired French Neoclassical from the reign of Louis the Sixteenth is tolerably obscure at the best of times, and Nanase has no interest in furniture.

Food, somewhat; it’s getting late. El, more, because El is looking completely relaxed in a public place when effectively naked from the waist up. The bread basket has arrived; whatever is in it’s oven-warm, and the butter is amazing. Nanase sort of notices that. She mostly notices being smiled at, and how El’s mouth moves, biting, and the underlying feeling of _this can’t be real_.

The amuse-bouche arrives; Nanase retains a sense of small size, of something on top of a thin slice of turnip. There are other people in the dining room; some of them have looked over. El has said something. Nanase has replied, but doesn’t know what she said.

_That could be Ellen_ is a thought Nanase decides to think.

_Ellen would wear that_ something in Nanase’s mind says, _but not like that. Ellen wouldn’t be demure about it._

Demure isn’t wrong. El’s being witty and charming and a little bit shy. El’s acting like she’s dressed entirely modestly. The contrast does things to Nanase. From the corners of Nanase’s vision, it’s obvious other people are noticing. Some of it’s noticing Nanase, but more of it’s noticing El. Nanase thinks about spells for spotting observation only once; it doesn’t seem like a good idea here, and it’s not threatening attention. Everyone else in the dining room is at least their parents’ age.

Soup; not very much soup. Not a cream soup, some sort of pork and apple and cinnamon. It’s insanely rich; so much so it’s likely solid at room temperature. It’s delicious and Nanase says something about it, Nanase can tell Nanase said something about it but not what. Everything in Nanase’s actual awareness collapses to El’s lips on the spoon and the one flick of tongue to catch an errant drop.

Fish; four strips of smoked salmon, each wrapped around a spoonful of potato and avocado salad with dill. The fish is sharp and complex over smooth and cool and Nanase finds herself watching El swallow. _I think I’m delirious._

Fowl; chicken breast stuffed with bacon and mushroom. Nanase has had things called all three of those names, but never anything like this. El is saying things; Nanase is trying to reply. It looks like it’s working. Saying something that makes El laugh at this distance, in that top, overcomes all of Nanase’s awareness. The laugh makes El’s shoulders move, and most of Nanase’s capacity for thought wanders away down the curves of El’s collarbones.

Main; roasted wild boar shoulder, glazed with honey and long pepper. Nanase refocuses with a sensation of honey and richness across her tongue. El has stretched out a hand and rubbed her thumb over the base of Nanase’s right thumb. The sense of electrification reaches up to Nanase’s elbow before the smile registers. El should not be able to smile shyly in a way that’s full of so many promises, but she has. The sense of electrification rises up over Nanase’s whole scalp, sparkly and insistent. Nanase isn’t sure her hair isn’t moving on its own.

Salad; watercress, fancy beets sliced transparently thin, crumbled walnuts, and a reduced red wine vinaigrette with truffled walnut oil. El winds up nibbling an errant strand of watercress off the side of her index finger; everything in Nanase’s mind trying to form a thought about how this can’t be salad, this is good, collapses. She does her best to smile back at El. El’s complexion pinks, just faintly, and somewhere in the deep coiling chaos of Nanase’s feelings there’s a note of triumph.

Dessert; a meringue shell full of brandied chocolate custard under tiny wild strawberries. There’s a slab chocolate garnish. Nanase compliments it, she’s sure she does. Her ability to form a memory of what she said strobes off, watching El set the last strawberry on her tongue. It had a little bit of chocolate on it, and it slides back past El’s lips and El wiggles with delight.

No coffee or perhaps tea is required; it was all entirely lovely, to the room, please, and Nanase signs something. It could have been selling her soul; she’s only slightly aware that she might not have signed her name, or in the correct place. Nanase stands first, to pull back El’s chair. El settles the wrap over her shoulders and floats upright; it’s not even smoothly, there’s no impression that any effort is possible. Indications of an effort being required have never existed. Nanase thinks El is turning her head to smile at her until she realizes she’s been kissed. It’d be a chaste kiss, mechanically.

The walk back to their room isn’t long; it can’t be long, there isn’t that much corridor. Nanase feels thrown out of time; either a single moment or an eternity of watching silk over El’s hips and the narrow line of bare back below the edge of the wrap and shape of El’s neck above it.

The room door goes _click_ behind them and Nanase reaches around and over El’s shoulders. El stops and settles into Nanase’s hands. Nanase undoes the top’s single fastening and lets it fall. El lets it fall; El’s already let the wrap drop. Nanase’s face is past El’s ear, she can’t see El smile, but the noise El makes is one of invitation.

Nanase says “slippers” and El kicks them off. El’s pants come off with an undone drawstring and a tug. El’s got the vivid green almost-thong on underneath and Nanase slides her hands under the elastic over both El’s hips, stretches it outward, and sinks into a crouch to pull the thing off. El steps out of it; Nanase stands back up and slides forward to reach over El’s arms to put two fingers on her clit and the other hand over a hipbone and pull El backward into Nanase. Nanase tips her head in to almost, almost, only just shy of teeth, bite the join of El’s neck and shoulder.

El makes an entirely pleased noise and quivers. Nanase lifts her head up to say “Mine” into El’s ear. El orgasms; Nanase is pressed tightly against El and can feel her core muscles shudder and shiver, and keeps making slow circles with the fingers on El’s clit until the shudders start to catch and stutter.

Nanase lets go and hauls her pyjama top off. Her pants follow; Nanase only just remembers to kick her own slippers off first.

El waits. Nanase straightens back up and slides her right hand up the inside of El’s right leg, pressure slacking to the ghost of spider feet as Nanase’s hand trails over El’s ass. “Foot of the bed.”

Nanase takes a step past El and tosses the covers off; the massage cover’s still there, and the big four-poster is tall enough to tip El forward from her hips. It makes El move her feet apart; Nanase encourages that by putting her feet between El’s and pushing outward. El wriggles into the bed, arms stretching out over her head.

Nanase puts a firm hand on the small of El’s back and says “Wait”. The long nitrile gloves and the lube are in the bathroom. Nanase knows exactly where and comes back in seconds, pulling the second glove on.

El wiggles a little at the first two slippery fingers; Nanase sits down on the bed, hip to hip, and then stretches back to nibble down as much of El’s spine as she can reach with her right hand making slow, steady fingers-in-and-out motions into El with index and middle finger.

It’s not as abrupt as the deep penetration from the large toy reaching FV5’s extensive extra nerve endings. Steady fingers works; El’s intense happiness and inescapable sense that Nanase can’t decide how to ravish El _enough_ magnifies it. El’s happy noises go loose and unfocused; the shudders in her lower back flutter into Nanase’s left hand. Nanase’s conscious mind decides there’s nothing here for it to do.

More lube, and another finger. El’s feet move further apart; Nanase stands up as El’s leg pushes in to her. All four fingers and a hand on El’s ass produce wet slishing noises and El saying _yes_ in a voice disembodied by pleasure.

Nanase stops pumping her fingers into El’s pussy, adds lube, and tucks her thumb in. El says _yes_ again as Nanase slides her hand forward slowly. Very slowly; count to ten between knuckles.

The width of Nanase’s hand slides in; El wiggles, trying to make Nanase go faster. Nanase refuses to go faster; it takes another minute before Nanase’s hand is wrist-deep in El. There isn’t resistance; there’s a constant, fluttery squeezing between whatever consciousness El has left trying to squeeze Nanase’s hand and the orgasm shiver and the quivering from the last orgasm and the one before that.

Nanase rolls her hand a little left; a little right. El’s helplessness, the visible shuddering strain in El’s legs — Nanase runs a hand up the outside of El’s left thigh ― the awareness that this can go on and on and on; those combine to do things to Nanase. Everything Nanase does happens as slowly as she can make herself do it; slowly curling her fingers in and fisting for real, the slow wrist rotations, straightening her fingers back out, it takes as long and happens as slowly as Nanase can imagine. Her sense of time is gone and there’s something happening in her own spine, watching El come apart. It’s just glorious and Nanase rides it, left knee on the bed with her left hand on the small of El’s back and start to push her whole right hand in another inch, and then slowly out until she starts to feel El stretching wider over the base of her hand and then back in.

El’s making a rhythmic _huh, huh_ noise. El’s drooling, and squirming, and the squirm from El’s lower back up through Nanase’s left hand gets into her brain. A little extra lube for her left hand and Nanase starts drawing little circles over El’s sacrum, lightly with her fingertips. It feeds into the squirming if Nanase times it right.

Another stretch of time and there’s only wet squishing sounds and El saying _ooh_ , _ooh_ , the sounds getting deeper and slower and further apart.

El’s been orgasming steadily since Nanase’s third finger went in. Making an FV5 person come is easy. Making them come for an hour or two depends on your stamina, and Nanase can manage that. The difficult thing, the accomplishment, is to make them come hard enough that they stop and can’t come any more.

Just as slowly as she’s been doing everything, Nanase splays her fingers out, gently, gently, as far as they’ll go, and husks “Come for me, Elliot Jane.”

El makes a long _aaaaah_ sound and pushes herself back onto Nanase’s hand. Nanase kneels up and slides her left hand forward and under; going for El’s clit will be too much, but firm boob squeeze and nipple tugging will run El’s orgasm out longer.

El’s head flops around, eyes lidded and leaking, mouth open, face completely empty. There’s nothing left in El but pleasure and Nanase comes hard herself.

* * *

“You OK?” It’s a four-day day-camp; Liz doesn’t have to get up early tomorrow. Liz and Ashley have gone out for pizza and to wander around. Now it’s after the movie and dark and they’re headed vaguely homeward.

“I don’t want to lose you.” Liz says it in the same tone she’d said “all those movies suck” and “maybe ham” about the pizza.

“I’m not going to Hogwarts. There are no owls. I could stay at home if the college didn’t discourage that.”

“Ever wonder why they discourage it?”

“They say so we don’t take stuff home. And it’s more like they free-ride campus dorms for magic students, with food. So they have to think it’s important.”

“Assuming the food’s any good.”

“It’s supposed to be.” Ashley’s quite sure this isn’t what Liz is really worried about.

“Am I getting too weird?” Ashley doesn’t want to think so.

Liz snarls and hugs Ashley. By now, Ashley’s aware that the snarl is for thinking she’s weird.

“Dork,” Liz says. “You’re happy and energetic. Perky goth is your glum side.”

Ashley can look like she’s brooding. For awhile, before there’s an enthusiasm leak.

“You don’t read the right kinds of stories,” Liz says. “About having a great time and coming back out into the light of common day and it’s been centuries and not only is everyone else you knew dead, your home town is gone.”

“I don’t think it’s faerie,” Ashley says. “Faerie is about mind games.”

Liz stops, because she cannot avoid the truth of Ashley’s description of faerie.

“I have less self-doubt,” Ashley says. “I have less anxiety.”

“Do you feel less good?” If Liz had thought at all she wouldn’t have said it.

“I try to do the right thing,” Ashley says. Whether or not Ashley is good is an old argument. “It’s more difficult but I don’t think I’m doing worse.”

“More difficult?”

“More than one lover,” Ashley says.

Liz makes a noise half agreement and half worry. There’s no way that isn’t more difficult.

“How much of that was your idea?”

“The situation wasn’t. The smooching sure is.”

Liz looks away, looks back, doesn’t grit her teeth or punch the air or swear. “Were you not getting smooched enough?”

“Elliot’s lovely,” Ashley says. “I have to overtly switch Elliot from cuddle to smooch. Elliot won’t top me at all. It’s a self-image thing. Ellen will top me.”

Ashley notices Liz’s face.

“Not a lot. Enough so I know I’m allowed to just feel things.”

“I probably can’t get you out of there,” Liz says. “Do I need to try?”

“No.” Ashley looks extremely something. Ashley doesn’t know what it is; there’s a lot of it. “I don’t feel weird.” Ashley takes a deep breath, and then three, and fiddles with the fidget spinner in her pocket. “If I start feeling bad, I’ll tell you.”

“OK.” Liz hates promises; Liz hates making a big deal of things. Liz wishes she could stop being scared.


	11. Getting Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everybody winds up back in one place.

### Friday

The Kitsune family car arrives at Le Petit Trianon just after eleven AM. There’s paperwork; the car interior is spotless. The exterior gleams. Nanase calls her mother to be sure the paperwork is correct, thanks the garage’s driver, tests the door locks a third time, and sighs. Reality has come to get them.

El and Nanase were packed; it’s not much, despite shopping. They’d had breakfast in their bathrobes in the alleged kitchen annex like everyone else did. It is next to the kitchen; the furniture is rustic slabs of oak and the floor is stone and it could probably seat a hundred. Nanase is now certain she can eat four eggs and bacon and something vegetable and fried and aggressively spiced plus very black, very French coffee for breakfast and El will still kiss her without hesitation.

They get, checking out, a complimentary lunch in a wicker hamper and a bathrobe each. They both overcome their surprise enough to say thank you. Nanase sorts out which of the bill goes to the insurance and what she needs to pay herself, which turns out to be just the pyjamas. Someone from housekeeping comes by to confirm that they have not left anything in the room. They ask for, and get, a list of events and options for stays in the next year; there is no website, but there is a phone number.

The back seat flips down; that gives them enough space to set eight garment bags down flat. There’s a little fussing with the hamper and the bags of sex toys and hoping nothing slides where it shouldn’t.

Nanase is back in the leather skirt she wore for the drive up; an Imperial Banana sports bra and the over-shirt are new. El is wearing exactly what she wore on the way up.

“Shouldn’t those clothes have reverted?” Nanase is looking over at El in the passenger seat. El hasn’t worn any of those clothes in days. El hasn’t done the vest up this time either.

“Sometimes clothes are permanent,” El says. “Haven’t figured out why.”

An image of Ellen in only that bra presents itself to Nanase; Nanase exerts her will to text her mother than the car is back, appears fine, is fully fueled, and they’re headed home. Then Ellen. Nanase hadn’t planned to end Ellen’s text with “I miss you”.

El’s putting her phone away in the bag at her feet. _I should probably admit it’s a purse_ , Nanase thinks. El gives Nanase a thumbs up; Ellen and Ashley have individual “on the road” texts.

Half an hour out on to the highway, Nanase says “What do you think it really is?”

“Uryuom anthropology project,” El says. “More than we saw.”

“Think Ellen’s going to get lingerie?” Nanase feels strangely about this. That was supposed to be the whole point.

“Yeah,” El says. “And it’ll fit. How attractive you’ll find it is anybody’s guess.”

“It’ll have Ellen in it,” Nanase says. A lot of the point is to dress Ellen up. Undressing Ellen’s no challenge at all. “And the pyjamas suggest someone knows what they’re doing.”

“If the hotel and Mode de la Reine aren’t completely different,” El says.

After a further hour’s drive along, there’s been a lull in the conversation.

“Willing to let Tedd look at the toy enhancing spell?” El asks the question with as little hopeful overtone as they can manage.

“For?” Nanase is of at least six minds on the subject. It’s an embarrassing spell to admit to Tedd that she has.

“General utility among the loyal subjects,” El says. “Sensation-swapping.”

“Toy…” and Nanase trails off and thinks carefully about driving. Nanase is very magical, and not obviously kinky at all. Ellen and Elliot have talked about it. There ought to be something, somewhere. Nanase has enthusiasm, but no complicated desires. She really does just not think of things.

Once someone else presents the idea, Nanase’s brain hands her implications. She realizes that swapping toys isn’t required, you could just connect the toy to someone else. It would be a lot like what she has with Fox, only with another distinct person. She really can’t think about tying up El and Ellen, just lightly, and putting their toys in them connected to each other and watching for however long it takes as they both go completely, matchingly incoherent. Not while she’s driving. The thought gets ruthlessly banished. El makes no effort to prevent the conversation from changing topic.

Another hour and they start looking for somewhere to eat lunch. Half an hour past that and they find one, a little pullover spot with trees and picnic tables and a shack washroom with actual plumbing.

The hamper has real dishes for four people. The hamper has two substantial vacuum flasks; one is the champagne-grape grape juice, and the other is something tart and red. There’s six kinds of cold cuts. There’s four sorts of cheese, one spreadable and one smoked and one might be really good cheddar. The fourth one is excellent but neither El nor Nanase have any idea how to describe it. There’s two loaves of bread. There’s clementine preserves and butter, in resuable containers where where the lids clamp on with three little clamps on the sides of the container.

“It’s not that the food compels you to go back,” Nanase says. “It’s that you want to go back to have the food again.”

El chortles a little and hugs Nanase sideways along the picnic table bench. They’re both on the side where they can look out from the shade, rather than at the dense mass of bushes behind them. Nanase puts an arm around El and leans in and doesn’t think about anything at all.

* * *

Ellen was not expecting Ashley to be a good cuddler. Ashley’s often tense and twitchy; Ashley doesn’t present much evidence of knowing how to hold still. A half-dressed Ashley confident that you do indeed want skin contact with her doesn’t so much hold still as relax with a startling openness; it makes it obvious to Ellen how Ashley’s been hurt. It’s a risky amount of trust. Ellen’s determined it won’t be _too much_ trust, not with Ellen; just being kind and honest toward Ashley isn’t going to be enough to make that true.

If Ellen rubs Ashley’s shoulders, or her neck, or as much spine as she can reach, Ashley melts; when Ellen stops, Ashley unmelts enough to nuzzle Ellen. Ellen thinks this is amazing.

Early in the afternoon, Ashley murmurs something; it’s half into Ellen’s right shoulder and half into her right boob. Ellen says “no ears there” in an amused voice. Ashley sits up and starts stacking pillows behind where Ellen could lean on the wall. They’re the same height, it shouldn’t work that well for Ashley to lean back on Ellen, but Ashley apparently only has a skeleton when she wants to. Sliding down far enough that her butt’s flat on the mattress and her spine curves up to lean back on Ellen isn’t just possible, it’s comfortable. Ellen needs to wiggle a little to get Ashley’s head settled in her cleavage. Ellen puts her arms around Ashley and concludes the whole things works.

“It’s easier when I can’t see you looking at me,” Ashley says. “I want to do something kinky, I want you to transform me because I’ve been good or useful for something.”

“Like?”

“Going down on you?” Ashley’s obviously pink; Ellen can feel Ashley blush as warmth on the side of her own face.

“I don’t have that much control,” Ellen says. “I might turn you into something but I might just flashlight you.”

“Flashlight?” Ashley hasn’t got the reference.

Ellen points one palm at the wall; sunlight through the bedroom window or not, the beam of light from Ellen’s hand is visible.

Ashley giggles.

“Or who knows,” Ellen says. “No doing magic during orgasms.”

“Not a bad question?”

“Not a bad question. You feeling like this is risky?” This conversation, Ellen means, and Ashley nods.

“Yeah. It’s admitting I’m kinky.”

“All that transformation?”

“That’s just magic. This is admitting I get off on submission.” Ashley’s voice is audible by pure force of will, and Ellen hugs her firmly.

“I don’t know where most of the important boundaries are,” Ashley says. “I think I understand what you and Nanase are doing, but I don’t understand you and Elliot and I don’t understand me and Elliot and it’s scary.”

“Me and Elliot?” Ellen’s curious.

“Boob-squishing Nanase.” Ashley makes a conscious effort to relax, and it works; the tension goes out of her and she slumps back into Ellen. “Not very siblings, even if you’re both involved with Nanase.”

“Which isn’t very siblings either,” Ellen says. “We’re duplicates. We didn’t expect to be duplicates.” Ellen takes a deep breath, then another, deep enough that Ashley feels herself shifting. “Deciding to be siblings got us around not knowing what to do.”

Ashley takes a few seconds to say something. “You just like Nanase that much?”

“Elliot transformed into an exact copy of me,” Ellen says. “I had to hold still and let Elliot do it, to get it exact.”

It takes a minute, and then Ashley says “Oh.” There’s an inhale. “You get memories?”

“Moods,” Ellen says. “Feelings. If we keep doing it we’ll probably get a spell for memories.” Ellen kisses Ashley’s nearer temple; she can just reach. “Elliot and I are versions of somebody. There’s two of us, but it’s not like twins.”

“And you’re OK with matching?”

“Matching is fun,” Ellen says. “Especially since Elliot’s stopped identifying as male.” Ellen leans forward to hug Ashley better. “Nipple-on-nipple contact smooshing Nanase doesn’t mean anything unless we decide it means something.”

Ashley makes a noise, and pulls inward a little on Ellen’s arms. Ellen interprets this as _more squish_ and slowly tightens her arms. Squeezing in with her legs gets Ashley to relax. “The idea of just not having any idea what the right thing to do is really really scary.” Ashley’s voice comes out small.

“Magic is its own rules,” Ellen says. “Magic seems to be really individual, too, people awaken out of their strong desires. I think magic makes your secret heart public eventually.”

Ashley can’t think about that, so she doesn’t. It’s going to come back, but it doesn’t have to happen now.

“I’m sorry, I can’t get this to stop in my brain. You don’t have boundaries with Elliot unless you agree there ought to be one? Anything you haven’t talked about doesn’t count?” Ashley’s speaking carefully and thinking about her words.

“So I might smooch Elliot and you’d have no warning?” Ellen’s guessing, but thinks it’s a good guess.

“Elliot might rather fuck you?” Ashley’s voice is still small. “I don’t know what I’m doing and I want a lot.”

“You’re special,” Ellen says. “Elliot’s really into you. You’re definitely someone else and you’re into Elliot back.” Ellen stops, and starts over. “And _no rules_ isn’t right. There’s a rule that there are no default boundaries.”

“So the foot rubs mean something.” Ashley’s figuring something out.

“The foot rubs mean something, and I wouldn’t fuck Elliot because it was meaningless, only if it meant something. Meaning can’t be spontaneous.” Ellen’s grinning. “That’s the comfortable thing about Grace, too. We both know we don’t know what this is or what we’re doing, and we can both trust each other to remember and ask and talk about it.”

“What do the foot rubs mean?”

“Same thing teaching Elliot how to do makeup does,” Ellen says.

“You and Elliot use makeup styles from another universe.” The realization only just hit Ashley, and Ashley thinks this is indescribably cool.

“I guess?” Ellen did learn how to do makeup during her second life.

“I thought it was regional and it is it’s regional to not around here which is why nobody else does it,” Ashley says. “Your mom doesn’t, I could not figure out where you’d got it.”

Ashley takes a deliberate breath. “You’re in this together, you and Elliot?”

“Yeah,” Ellen says. “I can deal with a lot, but if the other version of me really disapproves or doesn’t want to talk to me or stops caring, I can’t deal with that.”

“And you’re hoping Nanase is lifetime,” Ashley says, turning her head back around a little to look up at Ellen.

“I am hoping Nanase is lifetime.” Ellen isn’t sounding particularly definite. It’s more like “I’m planning to keep breathing for awhile.”

Ashley makes some “please let me up motions”; Ellen does. Ashley stands up and starts going through something, it’s too abrupt to be stretches. It looks a little bit like model pose-switching on fast-forward.

“If I run away it’ll hurt,” Ashley says. “It will hurt a lot.” Ellen decides the way Ashley’s moving looks something like really early attempts to animate dancing in video games.

Ellen sits up, gets her feet on the floor. “What are you doing?”

“Muscle-loosening,” Ashley says. “It helps.”

Ellen looks doubtful.

“If I don’t run away, I’m trying to have three lovers. That’s too much.”

“One lover,” Ellen says. “One fuck-buddy. One resplendent autocrat.”

Ashley’s expression does a bunch of things and winds up at almost laughing. She does stop moving. “Resplendent autocrat?”

“Totally,” Ellen says. “I love Nanase and she totally is. Nanase lets you know what she wants. You remember you can say no.”

“Don’t want to,” Ashley says. “Hate it. Not just horny, it’s no one to talk to and it’s no hugs and it’s just greed.”

“Greed?”

“Want, desire, I don’t want to stop. Now I can maybe be everything I want, I can’t go around converting other people into anything but if I want to wander around digitigrade with a tail, I can learn how.”

“Going for a dragon tail?” Ellen thinks that would be entirely reasonable.

“Animé succubus?” Ashley can’t decide to laugh or cry, and it shows. “I know you’re real and I can’t believe it.”

“You’re good for Elliot. You’re good for me.” Ellen’s entirely certain. Ellen makes a mental note to ask Elliot why he hasn’t asked their parents about getting Ashley a door code to the Dunkel’s house. It’s probably out of not-rushing or being pushy, and Ashley could do with the reassurance.

Ashley’s looking at Ellen.

“Run out of hope?” Ellen stretches out both hands to Ashley.

Ashley nods, stricken, and curls half into Ellen’s lap with her legs on the bed and her arms around herself.

“Want to start talking about what you want to do with people?” Ellen tries hard not to imply one answer is better than the other answer.

“Or what I want them to do to me?” Ashley uncurls a little and puts her arms around Ellen. “Not feeling confident.”

“The timing was way off,” Ellen says. “This ought to have happened next spring.”

“Yeah.”

“So talk,” Ellen says. “I can tell you you’re a good girl for being forward.”

“Mistress?” Ashley’s almost crying, but she’s being brave, too.

“I found some how-to stuff,” Ellen says. “Use language that’s positive when nobody’s aroused. Saying what you want is positive all the time. Telling you you’re a good sex toy probably isn’t.”

“Isn’t?”

“You’re an amazing sex toy,” Ellen says. “I want to slide my hands on to your tummy and zap you without warning in public places and see if you come. I want to spend a lot of time finding out how to make your transformation fantasies real.” Ellen picks Ashley up so she can kiss her on the lips. “That butch elf transform was good design. I want to sit there and watch you figure it all out and glomp you when you get nervous.”

Ashley wiggles around so she’s straddling Ellen, so she can take her own weight and angle her back to keep their faces level.

“I like all of that,” Ashley says. “I want to learn all the magic. Right now, I need to come my brains out so I stop panicking.”

Ellen kisses Ashley; it starts as an offer, and gets progressively more lascivious as Ashley melts into it.

“I really really liked being transformed when you had your fingers in my pussy,” Ashley says, eyes closed and blushing and certain Ellen is going to laugh.

“Good girl,” Ellen says in a slow voice full of promises. “Shorts off.”

* * *

Dinner happens in a diner. It’s teal and pink and chrome in the sort of post-futuristic retro style where the servers are wearing roller-skates. The only other uniform thing among the servers are miniskirts and suspenders. Nanase had a list of lesbian-friendly dinning establishments along their route; she’d agreed with El that they might as well try one. The place isn’t too full, the menu’s inventive, and the prices seem reasonable.

“And the servers are cute,” El says, more grin in her voice than on her face. Nanase looks back down at the menu; she can’t help noticing the servers. They all have cute haircuts. Moving on roller-skates makes them sway.

 _Plus some over-matched necklines_ , Nanase thinks. It’s probably a leotard; it’s scooped, and it’s losing. It would be losing without the roller skates. The suspenders make it really obvious just how thoroughly it’s losing.

“I don’t like _my_ tits,” Nanase says.

“That might have something to do with relaxing,” El says. Nanase’s breasts are pretty, and Nanase knows it, and likes that about them. She likes having an impressive bust. Nanase just doesn’t get all that much out of lovers paying attention to her breasts.

Nanase sort of growls. It’s not in disagreement. She’ll try thinking after she’s had food.

The food’s pretty good. There’s certainly enough of it; Nanase has four of the bacon burgers, which are solid slabs of Canadian bacon an inch thick and some sort of chutney. El has a single cheeseburger, fries, and an enormous traditional malted milkshake. It comes with two straws; Nanase tries not to stare at El using both of them. There’s through-the-lashes looks and frequent straws-repositioned-with-tongue involved.

“I know there’s no way to be normal,” Nanase says. She’s got a slice of pie. It gives every sign of being real pie. El’s got the last quarter of her milkshake and a fudge sundae.

If anybody overhears, they’re going to get the reason wrong. Mostly wrong.

“We’ll still love you,” El says. “Your mom will still love you.”

Nanase snort-sighs.

“Normal is what you have to be so they’re not allowed to hurt you,” El says. “That’s the bully thing, you’re not normal so they can hurt you until you are.”

“My mother,” and Nanase stops, because Mrs. Kitsune isn’t unfair. It’s not bullying. “My mother is afraid.” Of something never specified. It looks a lot like normal, or being put into a situation where you have to be, and can’t.

“Maybe your mom is right,” El says. “We don’t know. It’s hasn’t happened yet.”

“You don’t think so?” If El does think her mother’s right, Nanase is going to feel crushed. As much crushed as she can get.

“It looks like your Aunt Noriko did something awful and your mom decided that the only response was passing for normal,” El says. “My parents, your parents, Tedd’s parents, none of them will talk. I think not talking’s the mistake.”

“Say what you mean, no kink-shaming, no comparing to normal.” Nanase says it quietly. If Nanase said it loud, feeling like this, some of the glassware might crack.

El nods.

“What Ashley and I do doesn’t need to fit into loyal subjects. What you and Ellen do doesn’t. You’ve got loyal subjects anyway.”

“Situational.” Nanase has already got a lot of situational rules; home, school, and dojo might as well be different worlds already. Situational feels doable.

“Circumstantial,” El says. “I think the fourth rule is ‘no deciding we know what we’re doing.’”

Nanase nods firmly, face momentarily a pure mask of determination. She takes El’s hand and squeezes briefly. “Deal.”

Back of the counter a server’s metaphorical heart stops at Nanase’s profile and El’s and the whole moment. Neither Nanase or El notice, getting up to pay and head out on the road to get the rest of the way home.

* * *

Driving back into Moperville Friday night has traffic. Not as much as rush hour would, but there’s definitely traffic. Nanase is happy to see the Dunkel’s driveway; she’ll stop driving soon. It also means the trip is over, a feeling Nanase doesn’t have until she has a hand on the back of El’s head.

Putting the car into park was a decision; Nanase’s driving is made out of careful conscious checklists. Kissing El wasn’t a decision; it’s not even the same thing she’d do with Ellen, who wouldn’t like the back-of-the-head grab-and-turn. El’s eyes are closed and her mouth’s open before Nanase’s lips get there. The whole it’s-over feeling makes the kiss more intense.

“This was great and I want to do it again and I don’t miss Ellen less,” Nanase says, before “More” comes out a little surprised.

“It’s like different muscle groups,” El says, undoing her seatbelt. “Have to exercise them evenly or you get unbalanced.”

El is out of the car before Nanase stops looking at where she was. Nanase manages to not say “So who is leg day, you or Ellen?” out loud, but it’s a near thing.

Nanase wouldn’t be half so mad if it didn’t make perfect sense to her. And practically, yeah, you have to do all your arm groups evenly or you do feel unbalanced and you do want to exercise what you’ve been neglecting and even that much mental proximity between “Ellen” and “neglecting” makes Nanase hurt somewhere.

El’s carried her luggage into the house and one of the For Her bags. Nanase grabs the other For Her bag and the picnic hamper. El’s coming back out and Nanase says “All the pyjamas” and El nods. No need to figure out which pyjamas are Nanase’s and leave them in the car. Nanase was dithering about that, but it’s just easier not to take them home. Her mother might be fine with them, or might fuss about luxury, or might, possibly, insist on trying to return clothing Nanase wore in public where she bought it. There’s no real way to tell ahead of time and it’s an argument Nanase doesn’t want to have.

Nanase gets inside through the side door into the Dunkel’s kitchen, sets the bag and the hamper down, and gets hugged. Hugged is followed by kissed. Ellen missed Nanase; there is no possible question. Kissed lasts through El coming in with two sets of pyjamas, and then Ashley with the other two. From the sounds of it, the pyjamas went upstairs.

“I have to get the car home.” Nanase wants to not be responsible for the car anymore. Nanase has to want that more than she wants to stay in arm’s reach of Ellen for the next three days. It hurts, because she doesn’t, she really doesn’t. And once she goes home she’s stuck there for at least a few days, purely out of propriety.

“Yeah,” Ellen says. “But not unsmooshed!”

“I still have” and Nanase meant to say “to drive home”.

She doesn’t manage to say it.

“If you need half an hour to eat something,” Ellen says, and Nanase nods. Dinner was awhile ago. It’s not wrong. It’s not irresponsible.

“Or recover your composure,” Ellen says, and hugs her again, unusually firmly.

Nanase gets a sandwich; Nanase gets a glass of juice. Nanase gets a chance to just breathe, and chew, and get her blood sugar back up. During this, Nanase sees Ellen and El do a sort of affectionate hip-check thing she’s never seen them do before, as El goes out again with a list and a light to make sure there’s nothing left in the car that shouldn’t be. Explaining For Her purchases to Mrs. Kitsune can’t be imagined.

Ashley comes into the kitchen, looking unusually pink, just after El heads outside. Some of the pink is Ashley having helped inventory the For Her bags; everything’s in there. Most of the pink is a short satin dressing gown; it’s not Ashley’s colour at all. It probably fits usual-Ashley but FV5-Ashley gives it a struggle.

El comes back in, provides a thumbs-up.

Nanase wants to say _five minutes_. It doesn’t work with alarms, it won’t work now. She has to go. Nanase stands up and finds Ellen has her hand and is tugging her over to the old-fashioned adjustable stool. Ellen tries to say “Not unsmooshed” like it isn’t really important.

Nanase sits down, feet tucked in, as Ellen spins the stool around once for up and then back around twice for down. El takes her vest off, and reaches behind to pop the hooks on the transformed bra.

Ashley’s looking enthralled. Nanase looks nervous.

“Ellen’s not wearing a bra,” El says, bra sliding off. “I can put the vest back on.”

Ellen says “Nah” and strips her shirt off.

Nanase just can’t process the physical sensations at all. It feels very nice, it makes her happy, she can breath. Nanase spends the whole long minute of the smoosh trapped between entirely happy, social uncertainty about how firm a grip she can have on El’s ass in front of Ashley, and being completely uncertain if her heart is now broken or invincible.

El and Ellen step back a little; Nanase doesn’t let go, so it spreads her arms to keep a hand on each outside hip. It’s a comfortable distance and Nanase has no impulse to let go.

Ashley takes the three steps required to stand right in front of Nanase and sinks into a proper graceful curtsey, hem turned up and everything. “Your Highness? May I?” Ashley says.

Nanase’s eyes get a little wide. _May what?_ wouldn’t be gracious. “You may,” Nanase says in formal tones.

Ashley shrugs out of the dressing gown; it doesn’t fall further than where it’s belted around Ashley’s waist, but it falls. Ashley takes the short step forward and puts her arms around El and Ellen’s waists, higher up on them than Nanase’s hands. Nanase, face full of Ashley’s bountiful FV5 bust, thinks _haven’t even kissed_. Nanase’s spine feels practical; Nanase didn’t decide for her arms to pull Ellen and El back in, but she does it.

There’s another long minute while Nanase doesn’t think anything at all.

* * *

### Sunday

It’s not a large couch, but it is comfortable. Elliot’s at one end, with Ashley’s bare feet on his lap under both his hands. There’s a faint smell of peppermint from the foot cream Elliot used rubbing Ashley’s feet. Ellen’s at the other end; Ashley’s head isn’t quite in Ellen’s lap; it’s only on one thigh. Ashley has a firm grip on Ellen’s right hand, despite being sound asleep. The foot rub from Elliot will do to explain the asleep.

Brownie the cat has claimed all the space between Ashley and the front of the couch. Brownie doesn’t usually acknowledge people when sleeping, but has stretched out and rolled firmly into Ashley.

Mrs. Dunkel smiles at all of them, and the quiet simultaneous “Hi Mom!”. She’s confident it would take most of an earthquake to wake Ashley up, so goes and leans over to do a arms-and-head-hug with Ellen and then Elliot over the back of the couch.

“Nanase isn’t feeling left out?”

“We’re cooking dinner here Tuesday,” Ellen says.

“When is Elliot cooking dinner?” Mrs. Dunkel is amused.

“Ashley’s parents have invited the Dunkels over for a barbecue Thursday,” Elliot says. “With Nanase as Ellen’s plus-one. I said I had to ask you first.”

“Sounds serious. I had better call them.” The words are serious; her tone is entirely pleased.

Sleep has not slackened Ashley’s grip on Ellen’s hand. Ellen and Elliot have to turn and stretch carefully to lean forward far enough to high-five.

* * *

### Thursday

It’s a lovely afternoon. All the working adults have the day off; the 4th of July is a Saturday this year, so they’d get the Friday, and are able and willing to take at least the Thursday, too.

Ashley’s family have an in-ground backyard pool. It’s not a small pool. Ashley, Elliot, Ellen, and Nanase make it seem full anyway.

Ashley’s mother is cooking; there are two grills, both wood-fired, and what is clearly a Process. Equally clearly, help is neither requested nor required. The rest of the adults are off to one side in some tree-shade.

Edward Verres had walked over with magic school paperwork for Ashley, after both Ashley and her parents preferred that to having it mailed. He didn’t expect to be handed a beer, but here he is. There isn’t a gracious way to escape.

Edward expected a need to escape promptly. It doesn’t look like there will be any such need.

Ashley’s father is shaking his head. Maybe rueful, maybe disbelieving; you’d have to know him a lot better than Edward or either Dunkel does to be able to tell.

“I took this job because I wanted Ashley out of California,” he says. “Not the only reason, it’s a better job, but when your active pretty kid is dying of no one to talk to and taking stupid risks to socialize, you have to try something.”

Both Dunkels smile. It’s a very similar smile. “I wish I could be reassuring about stupid risks,” is Mrs. Dunkel.

“Not social risks,” Edward says.

“I have questions about that,” Ashley’s father says. “And how there’s something like ROTC and something not and what it all means, but not today. Today I’m noticing that my shy anxious kid’s fallen into a really active swimsuit edition shoot and is having a great time.”

“I’m hoping your kid will teach my kid prudence,” Mr. Dunkel says. “Either kid. Both is too much to hope for.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Zee McZed for constructive comments.
> 
> The whole point to this is to set up their college roommate situation. It got out of hand.


End file.
